Aconite
by Vexel
Summary: Remus Lupin was a werewolf; he took his potion every month, kept track of the lunar cycle diligently, and was labelled on the Ministry of Magic's registry as a dangerous creature. He'd lost his job at Hogwarts for being one. Remus Lupin was by all classifications a werewolf; until he was bitten.
1. Chapter 1: Amphotericin B

Chapter 1: Amphotericin B

ΔOl

Hermione let out a huff as she stepped out of the clinic, letting the sun sink into her weary bones. Her impromptu ten-hour shift had just ended, along with her rather frustrating consult with the higher-ups. Her mood soured at the memory; at their blatant refusal to review her findings regarding her doctoral thesis. She was certain that the counteragent she'd formulated would work – her accumulation of meticulous reports and studies near proved that. However, her adamant beliefs against premeditated virus injections on animals had proven to be her downfall. No proof; no pass.

Shaking the dark thoughts from her mind, she marched her way down the stairs, chin held loftily in the air. Those senile old codgers weren't going to tell her what to do anymore, no. She was Hermione Granger; at the young age of twenty-three, she could proudly state that she was the youngest and brightest doctor the veterinary hospital had ever seen and had only a term left before she finished her final doctorate thesis in Molecular Pharmaceutics.

That is if the hospital ever let her _trial_ her theories.

Despite her exhaustion, she dawdled as she made her way through London, revelling in the soft wind that shoved away the smell of hospital-grade disinfectant and sickness that always threatened to follow her home, tangling in her hair. Instead, she allowed herself to be consumed by the stench of second-hand smoke as she snuck her way through the crowds into the overground station. She carelessly tapped her Oyster card, sweeping through the turnstile and stood precisely behind the yellow line with half a minute to spare.

The platform was empty, and (considering her last minute call-in at three in the morning) Hermione was pleased to find that finally, something was going her way. Her suitcase, filled to the brim with research documents and samples that she had packed the night before, hung by her side, which she patted self-assuredly as the train pulled up next to her.

The train carriage wasn't barren like the platform, Hermione noted as the doors shut with a hiss. Seated in the far corner was a man dressed in shabby trousers and an ill-fitting dress-shirt. Hermione perched herself down in the nearest seat to the door, placing her suitcase protectively on her knees as she eyed the stranger warily. His cheeks and neck were a scruff of patchy bristles and his dirty blond hair was overgrown, sticking up at odd angles as if he'd run his hands through it numerous times. She couldn't see any descriptive features; his head was turned away, lolling on his shoulder and bobbing in unconsciousness as the train began to move forward.

Hermione didn't take her eyes off the homeless-looking man the entire trip and was rather relieved when she glanced out the window to see her stop approaching.

"Welcome to Wandsworth Town Station. Doors opening."

The man jolted as the automatic message played. Wide, pale brown eyes snapped open, rimmed in shadows so dark that they seemed sunken. A narrow, Roman nose sat beneath and a thin-lipped mouth followed. His cheeks were slightly hollow, leaving him to appear gaunt and frail, and Hermione could see faded scars crisscrossed his face and forearms like an abstract jigsaw puzzle. Despite the few decades the man had on her, Hermione couldn't help but think that with a shave (and a good home-cooked meal) he would be rather striking.

His light eyes swivelled over to her then, making her duck her head, blushing furiously at being caught. But the man didn't say anything as he shuffled past her off the train and out of sight, disappearing into the trickling stream of people milling around the station.

Much more slowly Hermione left the carriage, her hand gripped tightly around the handle of her case, cheeks still flushed pink as she began the trek home.

Hermione knew she could always take one of the many available taxis or the local bus home, but the short quarter-hour walk to and from the station every day was what she considered a treat. Every day she'd have to walk through Wandsworth Park filled with its lush greenery and pristine lawns; it was a refreshing change to wander through the trees – far different from the fast-paced bustle of the corporate district of London.

As she weaved her way through the barrier of trees lining the open fields, she caught sight of more than one couple in the distance basking in the rare spring sun with a picnic basket, along with an amateur cricket match that was being held on the far-side; Hermione could hear the faint cheering of the crowd across the hectares.

She had sunk just out of sight of the fields and into the cool shade of the planted forest when a low, uneven growl echoed from nearby, making Hermione freeze and duck behind a large oak. A grizzly noise came from her left, followed by the soft, placating voice of a man. Hermione listened as the voice continued to make calming noises and she nervously glanced through the thick cluster of trees hiding the stranger from view. A dog barked ferociously in response, and Hermione could tell that it was confused and panicked, as it switched between snarling and whining at a furious rate.

The man sounded nervous now; his voice was edging closer towards Hermione's hiding spot, making her hold her breath. A familiar mop of messy hair met her view as the man retreated toward her. The rickety growling followed him, the dog hiccupping fiercely.

Hermione felt surprised as the man from the station edged back unknowingly closer to her, his voice clearer, "Sirius, this isn't funny. Stop joking around and change back, we don't have time for this."

Hermione looked past the man to 'Sirius' and her breath caught in her throat. A hulking dog was struggling to stalk closer, each step seeming to send painful spasms wracking through the dog's body and he gave a fearful yip in retaliation with each step. The dog was covered in black, matted fur, looking to be a cross between a German Sheppard and a bear.

"Sirius, I'm warning you, Molly's going to be cross if we're late to another one of her suppers again..."

The man sounded less sure of himself this time, raising his palms out in a sign of surrender.

Sirius tilted his shaggy head side to side as if he was trying to understand the man. His mouth was hanging open, tongue not dissimilar to sandpaper as he panted. Hermione watched in fright as Sirius's eyeballs rolled wildly in their sockets, dilated and unfocused.

Oh, no...

The man seemed to take Sirius's panting as a sign of submission as he smiled warmly and reached out towards the dog.

"No— don't!" Hermione cried.

But it was too late. The beast had lunged towards the offered arm and sunk its fangs into the exposed skin of his wrist, Sirius's maw encircling the man's entire hand, who cried out in shock.

"Aaaargh!"

He was tossed left and right as Sirius shook his great head, the dog's teeth grinding closer towards the bone with every movement; his eyes were crazed in blood-lust as the man pounded on the side of his head uselessly. Hermione dropped to her knees, yanking open her suitcase to reveal vial upon vial of blue and clear chemicals. Her hands shook as she snatched up a packaged syringe, ripping open the paper fastening with her teeth and jamming it into one of the clear sealed bottles.

Another cry erupted from the man when Sirius shoved him to the ground, looming over the stranger and snapping at his scarred face. Hermione pushed the case aside, not caring as her meticulous hand-written notes scattered across the ground, fluttering away in the soft wind out of sight.

She rushed towards the pair, syringe poised, and, upon later reflection, did one of the most reckless things she had ever done in her short life; she flung herself onto the beast's back and latched her free arm around his neck, holding on for dear life as the crazed dog turned his attention from the man on the ground to her. She narrowly dodged a sharp nip at her fingers as she waved her needle at Sirius's neck, feeling the dog's growl vibrate throughout her entire body.

The man on the ground stared at her with his pale eyes, nursing his bitten wrist as blood leaked out onto his shirt. Hermione smiled wryly at him when the dog paused in his attempts to tear her head off to heave a dehydrated pant and plunged the syringe into the side of his neck, aiming as close to the heart as possible.

Sirius heaved another pant of exhaustion as he began to sway on his feet, stumbling as Hermione let go of her death-grip around his neck, feeling like she'd just ridden a malfunctioning mechanical bull and fell onto the soft grass. Sirius's eyes fluttered as he gave one final woof and collapsed. Unconscious.

The sound of cheering in the distance from the cricket pitch pierced the silence that surrounded Hermione and the stranger. He was still lying on the grass, staring up at the canopy with glassy eyes and pallid skin; his hand firmly gripped around his bitten arm. Hermione edged her way closer to him, slipping off her cardigan.

"Hello, sir? Are you all right?" those light eyes swivelled on her, still unfocused and unseeing. Hermione swallowed nervously, "I— I need to see your arm..."

He continued to stare.

"You can trust me, I'm a doctor. A pharmaceutical veterinary engineer, to be exact. Which, I know isn't your usual GP, but I can promise that I've had just as much training. More, in fact."

The man didn't release the grip on his wrist, mouthing the word 'doctor' to himself as if it was foreign, so Hermione reached out, gently gesturing to him to loosen his grip. He watched silently as she tore a strip of material from her cardigan and began to fasten it over the bite.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Hermione babbled, "You'll need stitches and a vaccine – as soon as possible, of course. I'd usually apply an antiseptic before wrapping bandages, but you've seemed to have caught me without my usual medical kit. I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger. What's your name?"

"Remus," the man replied, then slurred, "I don't feel very good."

Hermione nodded, her confidence boosting at the man's admittance and her professional mask falling into place, "That's the shock. I suggest that you take deep breaths, can you do that for me, Remus?"

Remus nodded, taking a few minutes to breathe in gulps of the park air. He still looked pale and clammy, which made Hermione nervous as she stood, dusting herself off and regretting that she had left her mobile phone at home, "I'm just going to find someone to call emergency services for you, all right?"

"Wait!" Remus rasped, "What about Sirius? Is he okay?"

"Your dog?" Hermione asked.

"My friend," he corrected, looking sadly over at the unmoving canine, "You said you were a Healer of sorts... you can help him!"

"W-well no, I can't. I specialise in pharmaceutics; I've only dabbled in emergency medicines in regard to my studies in—"

But Remus just shook his head, "Please, surely there's _something_ you can do?"

Hermione glanced at her suitcase, the blue vials glistening in the low light of the grove, "I... can. But it won't be entirely legal..."

"Anything!" the man was nearly incomprehensible now, his head bobbing with the difficulty to hold it upright, "Just help him... _please_."

Hermione sucked the air through her teeth before nodding resignedly, forcing herself to hold back a blush at the older man's thankful smile. She pulled her suitcase over, taking out a blue bottle and willing her shaking hands to be still as she unwrapped a new syringe, plunging it into the liquid and measuring two millimetres exact. Tapping the end of the needle, Hermione leant over the unconscious dog-bear, carefully lifting an eyelid to find the pupil had rolled back into his head. Good.

She began to sift her way through the matted fur, prodding at any exposed skin for recent lacerations. Finally, on Sirius's hind leg, she felt the infected scabbing of an animal bite – a couple of weeks old if she guessed right. Raising her needle once again, Hermione carefully injected the blue substance where the bite sat, watching the liquid disappear from its chamber and into the still dog.

Satisfied, Hermione sat back and placed a hand on Sirius's chest. In a matter of minutes, his heart began to lose its palpitations (which had still been beating fast even in his unconscious state) and slowed to a smooth, steady beat.

Clicking a cap on the used needle, Hermione cheerily tossed it back into the suitcase with its sealed twin, feeling rather boastful, "It's lucky that I was here to help. Most animals who have reached the hyper-salivation or furious stage aren't responsive to the vaccine, and – while there are still some legalities regarding my Aconite solution – it's been proven to have a ninety-four percent success rate in mid-stage recipients... well, in domestic creatures at least. Wolves are far more susceptible to the disease, leading them to— Remus? _Remus!_ "

Hermione had glanced over to find Remus's shoulders were trembling violently and his knuckles were white with the pressure of his grip as he let out a deep suffering groan.

She rushed over, worry spread across her face as she measured his vitals, "I— I don't understand! The infection can't just suddenly appear in such a short amount of time… this can't be right!" she lifted a hand to his forehead, feeling the heat resonate off him before she even came in contact with his flushed skin, "I have to call an ambulance! Please, just stay here – I'll get someone to help us – we'll get you to a hospital!"

"No!" Remus roared, blank eyes now dimly filled with fear, "they can't know – the muggles... they'll figure it out! They can't know about the wolf!"

Another spasm rattled through his body, and he collapsed in pain, choking on spittle that was running from his mouth in a thin foam. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"This is impossible!" she cried desperately, "You can't just... _get_ _rabies_! The symptoms take weeks to appear in humans, not minutes!"

"Where's m' wand?" the man gagged on his saliva.

Hermione reeled back, "What? No, you're hallucinating! Please, just... _I_ _don't know what to do!_ "

But Remus didn't offer any help and instead chose to collapse in an airless heap. Hermione shoved him onto his side in hopes to clear his airway as she glanced through the trees desperately. Her mind quickly came to the conclusion that even if she was able to reach one of the many park-goers on the far side, by the time an ambulance arrived it would be too late. Remus had already bypassed the prodromal stage to move directly into the later movements of the furious stage, which meant at any moment he could fall into paralysis.

Hermione dragged her hands through her hair, feeling desperate tears burn at her eyes. She didn't know what to do. Nine years of advanced study were all a waste as this stranger lay dying before her.

A hand weakly tapped on her arm. Hermione's vision swirled through the salty tears that prickled at her eyes, "M' potion... need m' potion..."

"Please, try to focus on breathing," Hermione whispered weakly.

But Remus just shook his head, "M' potion— the wolfsbane one, t' stop m' changin'."

Hermione froze in thought; wolfsbane. Yes, of course.

She rushed back over to her suitcase for the third time, tearing open her last syringe and stabbing it into the blue medicine – her aim so bad in her rush that she nearly pierced her own skin twice.

She hurried back to Remus's side, tearing off the bandages she made with a fervour she never knew she had before, babbling madly at the semi-conscious man, "I don't know how well this is going to help you; the solution wasn't designed for humans. It's primarily a strand for house pets – I've never had the clearance to test it on anything but a handful of mutts and some rats during my travels. Definitely not homo-sapiens, or even pan-sapiens for that matter!"

Hermione bit her lip, "Please don't die," she begged as she slipped the needle's point into the bite, letting the Aconite cure mix into Remus's bloodstream.

She watched quietly for several minutes, two fingers resting on his jugular as his fever dropped along with his heart-rate until eventually a final tremor ran through him and he let out a soft sigh, slipping off into a deep slumber.

Hermione held back a desperate yell of joy, the tears finally welling over in relief as she cried over the sleeping man. It took her several more minutes to compose herself as she glanced around in their small clearing. Slamming her suitcase of empty phials and used equipment shut, Hermione made sure the man was lying comfortably on his side when she felt the prickling of eyes on her.

Turning, she found herself face-to-face with the gigantean monster Remus called his friend, who gave a happy yip when he saw he caught her attention, "How are you awake? I gave you enough anaesthesia to knock out a horse!"

Sirius ignored her in favour of watching the unconscious man, "He should be all right now," Hermione said assuredly, more for her own sake than the dog's, "Could you do me a favour? Watch over your master while I go and get help?"

Without waiting for an answer (or really expecting one), Hermione dashed off through the trees, toward one of the closer picnic couples across the field.

But when she arrived back the pair had vanished into thin air – all that was left were some muddy paw prints and an empty suitcase.

ΔOl

"Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead," Remus heard a faraway voice call out to him, followed by a succession of sharp taps to his cheek.

Remus swiped at his face with a groan before reluctantly squinted through bleary eyes up at the looming image of his long-time friend, Sirius Black. With an easy-going grin, Sirius cheerfully ignored his weak attempts to bat him away and continued to play out the drum solo to one of the Weird Sisters' latest hits on the side of Remus's face.

Under the much sharper glare of Remus, Sirius leant back in his seat, "Welcome back from the land of nod. With how much you were snoring away, I thought you were going to sleep forever."

Remus looked around slowly, his brain struggling to catch what his eyes were seeing. A row of beds, covered in starch-white sheets sat to his left with more than one occupied bedside table housing a capricious amount of bouquets and get-well cards. Remus glanced at his own bedside table to find a modest amount of chocolate perched on top, along with a few cards of his own and some daisies sitting in a glass vase that glowed in the early morning sunlight.

"They're from James, he was just around a few hours ago. He had to leave before his shift started. Lily sends her best too." Sirius nodded at the vase, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his robes, "Peter left you a box of truffles but ended up eating a fair share of them, greedy sod."

Remus frowned, scowling at the ache that shrouded his body, "Why am I in St. Mungo's?"

His friend's face became solemn before turning away to watch something just a little over his left shoulder, his eyes far away. There was a long silence while Sirius stared at nothing.

Remus was about to ask him again when he whispered despondently, "It's my fault."

Remus frowned, "What's your fault?"

"This," Sirius yanked a hand out of his pocket and angrily gestured to the bed Remus was lying in, "All of it. It's my fault you're in here at all."

"Sirius, what happened?" Remus asked carefully.

Sirius suddenly looked very tired. Lines that Remus had never seen before gripped at the edge of his mouth and wrinkles threatened to become permanent on his forehead as it creased in worry.

"I should have listened when you told me to get that bite checked out," he admitted.

Remus was very confused now, "That raccoon bite from when you went travelling? What's that got to do with anything?"

Sirius's eyes pinched. "Don't you remember? In the park?" Remus shook his head. Sirius pressed further, "The muggle girl? What was her name? Herr... Hermi..."

"Hermione Granger," Remus offered. The name slipped smoothly off his tongue before he could even think to snatch it back, and like someone had just tipped a penseive over his head the memories washed over him. Images flashed through his brain at an alarming rate, threatening to slip through the cracks of his mind as he grasped wildly at them. Outrageous brown hair and wide, frightened eyes appeared more than once; sometimes smiling, but mostly crying.

Remus blinked, "Oh."

"Yeah," Sirius muttered, looking ashamed.

He didn't speak after that, so Remus resigned himself to lie there staring at the ceiling. Healers came and went, bustling past to the other patients in the room with nary a glance in his direction. He was used to being ignored by Healers due to his lycanthropy, and so more often than not his mind drifted back to the image of the young woman that flittered out of his mind. Remus couldn't remember the last time anyone had seemed so worried for him, had held so much sadness and concern plainly on their face – he was just a stranger after all. He wondered how she would have reacted if he was her friend.

Remus sighed, glancing down at the wrist that Sirius's jowls had clamped down on. There wasn't even a scar (the Healers had made sure of that), nothing to keep in memory of the erratically pretty girl that had saved his life.

Another hour passed before a Healer shoved aside the privacy curtain that Sirius had been kind enough to close and approached the end of his bed with a clipboard and a frown.

"Mr Lupin?" she asked in a loud voice.

Remus grimaced in response, nodding over at the slumped over the figure of Sirius by the bedside; he looked like he needed all the rest he could get.

The Healer ignored Remus's subtle urgings and continued primly, "I just need to clear some issues with you. Our records state that you are registered by the Ministry of Magic as a werewolf, am I correct?"

"Yes," Remus admitted tiredly.

"And you are regularly administered the wolfsbane potion, is that correct?"

Remus began to feel nervous, "I was up to my fourth serving of the week before… this."

The Healer licked her teeth before scribbling something down on her clipboard, "And you are aware that you have been in St. Mungo's for the past eleven days—?"

Remus shoved himself upright, ignoring the searing burn that stretched through his muscles at the movement and yelled, "I didn't hurt anybody, did I?"

Sirius started from his seat, grizzling dazedly. Remus cast him an apologetic look before turning back to the Healer who shook her head.

"The issue, Mr Lupin, is that you didn't change at all."

ΔOl

The Healer had discharged Remus shortly after, with a promise to them that he returned for review after the next full moon, and the two friends decided to retreat to Grimmauld Place; Remus to nurse a nice cup of tea. Sirius for something stronger.

Sirius sat staring at the grains of wood threaded through his kitchen bench, "Wow..." he muttered.

Remus nodded, rubbing absentmindedly at where Sirius's bite mark should have been, "I know."

"No, really, wow..."

"Yes, I know."

Sirius turned wide eyes on his friend, running a finger around the rim of his whiskey glass, "No, I mean just... wow."

Remus turned annoyed eyes at him when a burst of green appeared in the fireplace and the familiar messy head of James Potter stepped through.

"Remus!" James strode over to the kitchen bench, plopping down into the chair opposite them and stared amazedly at him, "...Wow."

Remus scowled, " _I know."_

James shook his head, "How are you feeling? I mean, Sirius, Peter and I were all there for the full moon – you know, just in case – but you sort of just laid there the entire night. Didn't make a sound. Peter thought it had something to do with you being unconscious, but Sirius pointed out that that couldn't have been the case after that time in fifth year when we broke into Slughorn's storage cupboard and you accidentally drank a whole bottle of—"

"The Healers said for me to keep track of my vitals for the next month," Remus cut him off, cheeks pink in embarrassment. It wasn't one of his most shining moments at Hogwarts, "Or at least until the next full moon. They think it might have been a fluke."

Sirius snorted, "Sure. They're just peeved that a muggle might have figured out the cure for werewolves before they did."

Remus frowned. If what Sirius said was true then he owed a lot to Hermione Granger. Ever since he was bitten nearly forty years ago he had had to suffer with the curse of his lycanthropy and now, for the first time, he felt the stirrings of hope rising within him at the idea that he might finally be free to live a normal life.

"She saved your life too didn't she, Sirius?" Remus heard James say, "After that stupid move with the squirrel..."

"It was a raccoon," Sirius huffed, cheeks red, "A _really big_ one."

"Whatever, "James waved him off, "Are you going to try and see her again?"

Remus choked on his tea. Quickly moving the cup away from his reach, he stuttered, "See who again?"

"The girl who saved you."

Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to imagine himself having the courage to walk up to the pretty young woman that had saved him nearly two weeks ago in the park. A blush spread down into the collar of his shirt at the thought of her straight-toothed smile and strong-willed spirit.

"We shall see," he murmured.

ΔOl

This is a twelve-chapter story. Each chapter will be released every second day. Also, Voldemort doesn't exist in this universe, and obviously Hermione is a muggle. Enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2: Beta-Propiolactone

Chapter 2: Beta-Propiolactone

ΔOl

Hermione slammed the professor's door behind her as she stomped her way down the stairwell. More than one student veered out of her way as she angrily muttered to herself, eyes narrowed and lips pursed as she headed out onto the street for the train ride home.

After losing her thesis and notes while helping Remus and his dog, Hermione discovered that she would have to rewrite them from scratch. Her only other option was to grab the copy she'd stored in one of the laboratory's lockers – which should have been easy if it wasn't for her hack of a professor denying her access under the claims that, since it was created on university grounds using their resources, Hermione had no hold over of the project since her patent was still being withheld for review.

"Utter tosh!" Hermione sulked to herself, coming to a stormy halt just short of the yellow safety line, stopping her from tipping onto the train tracks.

It was an outright lie and complete fraud on the professor's part, but as a student, Hermione had no authority to fight against the man considering he held the power to pull her both from her scholarship and her seat in the clinic. Luckily, the professor wouldn't be able to access her work either until the end of the semester when the store-rooms had to be cleared out, otherwise, Hermione would have claimed a breach of privacy and theft.

The train was lonely this time. Hermione sat in the empty carriage with her purse placed across her lap. There was no overtired stranger with light eyes and unkempt hair in the corner sleeping away the chore of the ride and Hermione felt herself, not for the first time, longing to see the peculiar man once more. She hadn't seen Remus in over two months (not that she had expected to) but she just wanted to know if he was all right.

Worry and guilt had plagued her for days after her encounter with the man and his dog in the woods. Her cure was truly only theoretical after all, tested only on a small selection of rodents and manic alley cats, all of which were very different to the chromosomal and cellular makeup of a human.

The automatic message announcing her arrival, introducing her to her stop. Stepping out, she briskly made her way through the turnstile toward the park, head bent low as she stomped her way through the greenery, not entirely in the mood to enjoy the walk.

"Wretched old hermit, trying to steal my project!" Hermione growled to herself, glaring defiantly at a familiar oak tree, imagining the gnarled and worn bark twisting to form the withered cad's as she threw curses at it, "Just wait. The moment I get my hands on those notes that fool will be begging at my feet like a dog!"

A sharp bark made her jump, causing her to nearly drop her purse in fright. Glancing around, Hermione found herself staring into the eyes of the monster of the dog ( _Sirius_ , she quickly corrected herself) she had stumbled upon only a few months before.

"Hello," she started hesitantly. The dog stared at her from just outside the fringes of the greenery she had emerged from. Hermione blinked, "Er... where's your owner?"

Sirius's tongue lolled out of his mouth happily, watching her with intelligent grey eyes. Hermione glanced down at her shoes, wondering if she was capable of outrunning the dog across the clump-ridden grass in two-inch heels. A soft _thump_ dragged her eyes up and she let out a soft squeak when she found herself confronted by the massive dog; its shaggy head was inches away from her chest as it stared up at her. Sirius sniffed her frozen form curiously, tail wagging as he shuffled about her, snuffling for many minutes before giving a satisfied yip.

Hermione giggled as she slowly raised her hand, knuckles first, toward him to sniff. He woofed gently in response allowing Hermione to place a hand on top of his head to lightly scratch it with her fingernails.

"I'm glad to see you are all right," she murmured half to herself, "I do hope Remus is okay too."

A strange light filled Sirius's eyes then; lifting his head, Hermione swore she saw a mischievous grin spread across the dog's jowls before he had lunged at her, snatching her beaded bag off her shoulder and darting away into the forest.

"Hey!" Hermione cried indignantly.

She learnt an hour later that, no, she wasn't capable of outrunning Sirius in two-inch heels, and that mud was impossible to get out of suede.

ΔOΙ

Remus stared at the purse sitting innocently in the middle of Sirius' bed. His friend stood next to him, boldly grinning like he had found a new bone.

"You _stole_ her purse?" Remus gritted out, glaring at his friend who shrugged as if it was the most logical thing to do.

"You can learn everything you need to about a woman by what's in her purse."

Reaching out, Sirius yanked open the fastening and dumping the contents onto his comforter. Remus let out a strangled moan.

"Padfoot, do you have _any_ sense of propriety? No, don't answer that, I already know what you'll say."

Sirius gave Remus a doggish smirk and started tossing objects left and right, "Hairbrush... mirror... notebook with a shopping list... a business card to a _dent-eest_ – hmm, she's got an appointment next Tuesday... drivers licence – whatever that is… Some sort of class schedule… Receipt for tickets to Paris in two weeks… Ooh! Born in 1979, eh? Didn't know you liked them so young, Moony..."

"Sirius!" Remus hissed, glancing about as if Hermione herself was going to leap out of his wardrobe like a boggart, "Will you stop going through her things? This isn't right!"

The dark-haired man scoffed, "Well I wouldn't have to resort to this if you stopped acting like you have pixies in your stomach and actually tried to _talk_ to her. We've been following her for weeks now, it's creepy—!"

"Just to make sure she didn't tell anybody about what she saw! She's a muggle! The International Statute of Secrecy says—!"

"And all you do is moon at her with those big, sappy eyes—!"

"I do not! She's almost twenty years younger than me! Harry's age, for goodness sake—!"

"Ha! At the rate you're going, Harry is going to get a girlfriend before you, and he's useless at dating! Hey, I'm pretty sure even Snivellus has a better chance at Hermione than you!"

Remus turned a dark shade of puce as he clenched and unclenched his fists by his side. Sirius knew that his endless teasing had hit a sore-spot; the truth. Without another word, he watched as Remus swept the contents of Hermione's beaded bag up and shoved them back in, tucking it into his own knapsack and storming out of the room. Sirius called out after him, but the stubborn fool continued to stomp down the rickety stairs of Grimmauld Place and yanked the front door open.

Sirius had barely managed to make it down the stairwell before Remus had apparated away.

He let out a groan as his friend disappeared with a loud _crack._ Of course the man would run. Turn into a mythological man-hunting beast every month? Easy. Face the idea that he might have a slight (stalker-esque) crush on a girl? More than a little bit difficult.

"Knock-knock!" called a voice from the entry. James stood in the open doorway tapping on the wood, a shorter, tubbier man with pale watery eyes and thinning blonde hair glimpsing around him.

"James! Peter!" Sirius bound down the rest of the stairs in excitement, coming to a halt in front of his friends, "Good to see you!"

"Where'd Moony disappear in such a hurry? We didn't even get a 'hello' out of him before he was gone," Peter said sulkily.

James nodded in agreement, "He's been acting like that for weeks... I thought he'd be a lot cheerier considering he's cured."

Sirius waved a reassuring hand, "Ah, don't worry about it. Moony's just found himself a bit of a crush is all."

"Our moonlight monster? In love?" a broad grin slowly crept its way across James's face, Peter's growing to match it, "Do tell!"

"Ex-moonlight monster,' Sirius corrected before letting out a deep sigh, "It doesn't matter. At this rate with the way Remus is acting the girl is going to mistake him for the Big Bad Wolf rather than Prince Charming," he regally ran a hand through the hair, watching with glinting eyes as he waited for his friends to fall for the bait.

"Aw, what?" Peter, as gullible as ever, cried.

But James was having none of it, "Nuh-uh, Padfoot! I know what you're playing at. You know Lily has forbidden me from meddling with people's love-lives anymore; not after those rumours I accidentally spread about Harry when he was in his sixth year. If she found out I was messing about with Remus' she'd have me sleeping with the house elves for a week!"

"I'll help you buy your anniversary gift?" Sirius offered.

James paused, "Okay."

ΔOl

I got some really positive feedback on the last chapter, so I hope you enjoy this one just as much. The following ones are rather short compared to the first chapter (1,000-2,000 words) but I really hope that you enjoy it all the same. Please leave a review, they only take a few seconds to write and really make my day!


	3. Chapter 3: Chlortetracycline

Chapter 3: Chlortetracycline

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Hermione glanced over her shoulder for the fourth time; she had had the most peculiar feeling of being watched for months now but had placed it down to stress-related paranoia. After all, who would want to follow _her_ of all people around? Bushy-haired and nose constantly buried in a book, Hermione found herself less than popular with her colleagues at the university; especially since more often than not she had a habit of bringing the exam mean-levels up a substantial amount thanks to her photographic memory. No, the only reason she could understand anybody wanting to follow her was if someone was attempting some act of sabotage on her (she would guess Belinda Lauenburg as the instigator; the cattish and gossipy bint in her required Introductory Chemistry was just the type to try something so petty).

 _This feels different though_ , Hermione glanced up and down the street, before crossing the road from her quaint Wandsworth flat.

Shoving her keys into her pocket, she chose to ignore the cluster of trees she usually chose to cut through, instead taking the longer route to the train station, her pocket jingling with loose change. Since Sirius had stolen her favourite bag Hermione had had to cancel all of her cards and was still in the process of procuring a new drivers licence. She needed to buy a new Oyster card too, and just earlier had resorted to searching high and low through her apartment for any spare pounds and pence.

Arriving at the station she lined up in the short queue for a new pass. The line was near stagnant as Hermione watched disinterestedly as some bossy-looking businessman in a too-tight suit stood yelling at the attendant about penalty charges. She heard someone slide into line behind her.

She jumped when the person spoke, "He's a loud one, isn't he? Are all muggles like that?"

Hermione blinked, turning around she found herself looking up at a handsome middle-aged man's face surrounded by black hair that stuck up the most peculiar way in the back, "I beg your pardon? What did you just call him?"

The handsome man grimaced as if he had just committed a faux pas, shoving his round-rimmed glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, "Er, you know, those stodgy old types; 'muggles', yeah?"

He gave a weak laugh as Hermione continued to stare at him uneasily. He cleared his throat and brusquely shoved a hand out with an uneasy grin.

"The name's James Potter, and you are?"

She considered refusing the hand of the overly forward man, but her upper-middle-class breeding and strict upbringing won over as she carefully accepted it with her own, "Hermione Granger."

James gave a nod and a brilliant smile that looked out of place with the brooding expressions of her fellow undergrounders. It was obvious with his open and bubbly personality that he had never been to London before. The man was going to get himself mugged if he kept grinning at strangers like he was.

"So," James dragged out the word as if he was searching for what to say next, "What do you do for a living, Hermione?"

"I'm a pharmaceutical veterinary engineer," she replied smoothly, shuffling forward with the line as the overweight businessman finally threw his hands in the air, snatched a card off the attendant and stormed off toward the turnstiles. James shuffled with her.

"And what does a 'farmers-suit-icicle vet-itinerary engine-ear' do?" James stumbled out, a look of pure curiosity dawning on his face.

Hermione gave him an odd look, "I help develop narcotics for afflicted or debilitated animals."

James shrugged, obviously confused.

Hermione sighed. She hated simplifying her job; she was proud of the effort she had put into achieving it, "I create cures and preventatives for sick pets."

Something sparkled in the older man's eyes and he snapped his fingers at her, "Oh, you make potions then!"

"Potions?" Hermione sputtered, hackles raising as James nodded proudly to himself, "I'm not some sort of Shakespearean witch, I'll have you know! I don't sit around a cauldron all day with my cat chanting away in Gobbledegook; I use hard research and facts to get my results!"

James' eyebrows rose, impressed, "You can speak Gobbledegook? I don't even think Dumbledore knows how to do that. Goblins are rather guttural, you know. I remember when Remus and I were partnered up in History of Magic; he would always insist that we pronounce the names correct, I usually ended up leaving the classroom hoarse by the end of it!"

Hermione took a sharp step back, more than nervous as James prattled on, "Goblins? Dumbledore? History of Magic? What are you talking about?"

James seemed to catch himself there, looking like a deer in the headlights as he stared down at Hermione like he'd only just seen her for the first time, "Oh, er… you know…"

Hermione shook her head, "No, I don't know. And what's this about Remus?"

The man's face paled as he wrung his wrists before shoving a hand through his birds-nest hair, making it stand on end.

"Do you know Remus? Blonde hair, brown eyes? Covered in scars? About this tall?" Hermione gestured with her hand some ways above her head, her eyes narrowing at the man's expression.

The pale appearance of his skin blossomed into a blustering pink, travelling down his neck into the collar of his button-up. His hands shoved themselves into the pockets of the coat he was dressed in, rummaging through them as he eyed Hermione nervously.

"Er, you— you dropped these earlier!" he said in a jumble of words.

"Sorry?"

But James had obviously found what he had been searching for. Flinging his hands out, he caught Hermione in the chest, shoving her back with a soft "Oof!" and making her stumble into the person in front of her, who gave her a distasteful sniff. The sound of plastic clattering to the ground made her look down, and Hermione found herself staring down at her missing cards, her Oyster pass winking up at her from the grubby tiles.

When she looked up, James Potter was already gone.

ΔOl

Sirius howled with laughter from where he was reclined on the over-stuffed loveseat in James's living room. James stood in the corner, scowling at the crackling fire.

"Yeah, yeah, Padfoot, I get it. It was a real hoot."

Sirius looked like he was struggling to breathe as he sat up, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, "Merlin— you did… and then you just…!"

He dissolved into another fit of giggles, ignoring James's threats and curses as he re-enacted his best friend shoving the confused muggle girl and bolting from the station. James's patience finally slipped. With an embarrassed cry, he leapt across the room, snatching up one of the matching over-stuffed pillows and tried to smother Sirius with it, which only made the man cackle louder.

Peter waddled into the room shortly after, Cornish pasties in hand, and seated himself in the winged armchair closest to the fire, watching in mild interest as Sirius finally managed to kick James off, sending him careening to the ground with a heavy _thump_ and a bitter moan.

Peter ignored James whining, childishly sprawled across the floor, and said to Sirius, "So I take it that it didn't go well."

Sirius shook his head and sighed like he was reliving a favourite pastime – which he was, "You should have seen him, Wormtail. I swear, if he acted like that around his darling Lily, she would have ended up running to Amos Diggory begging him to marry her before seventh year was out."

James threw a disgusted face from his spot on the floor, "Bulbous-headed prat," he muttered darkly.

"With such a terrible act you just showed I should have convinced you to buy those sneezing pepper shakers instead of that bracelet for your anniversary," Sirius rolled his eyes before pointing a finger at Peter, making the tubby man flinch, "Wormtail, you're up."

"Up for what?"

James sprung up with a grin as he trotted over to his portly friend, leaning an arm across the back of the chair, "Why, to convince the lovely lady Granger to go on a date with Remus, of course. Since the poor man would never work up the guts to do it himself!"

Peter blinked watery eyes, "But how do I do that?"

Sirius tapped his chin in consideration before a broad grin plastered itself across his face. Jumping up from the couch, he snatched a handful of Floo powder from James's mantle and rushed through to his old home, bounding back out a few minutes later waving a woman's purse about.

"Where did you get that?" Peter asked.

"Stole it from Moony's bag while he was in the shower yesterday. The old fool carts it around like a Hinkypunk's lantern," Sirius grinned, "Let's see what we can find in here, eh?"

Both James and Peter shuffled closer as Sirius shoved his hands into the depths of the beaded bag, before pulling out a flimsy piece of creased card victoriously, "A-ha! Got it!"

"Got what?" James asked.

"An appointment card! Hermione's going to the _dent-eest_ tomorrow."

"What's a dent-eest?"

Sirius shrugged, heading for James's front door, "How should I know? It's a muggle thing, I guess. It can't be that bad. C'mon Peter, let's go find one of those feletone things and make an appointment!"

ΔOl

Because the chapters are so short for the most part, I'm going to be releasing them one per day. I just get the quick-fast vibe, y'know? Always, please leave a review and look out for an update tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4: Neomycin

Chapter 4: Neomycin

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Hermione ignored the tell-tale tinkle of the bell as she stepped through the familiar glass-panel door into the cream coloured waiting room. It felt claustrophobic with uncomfortable plastic chairs lining the poster-covered walls; a corner was sectioned off filled with old children's toys, and a low coffee table sat in the centre of the room covered in out-of-date magazines.

Making her way to the high bench on the far side, she peered over the top, fondly watching the man on the other side squint at the ancient white cinderblock computer, eyes magnified by gold wire-framed glasses to make him resemble a beetle, poking at the keyboard with two index fingers.

Hermione cleared her throat with a cheeky grin, "Hello, stranger."

The man jolted, nearly sending himself tumbling out of the computer chair in his fright, "Sweetheart! Good morning! I thought we weren't expecting you for another hour!"

"I thought I'd come in early to say hello before you had the chance to shove a saliva ejector down my throat," Hermione looked around the empty room curiously, before asking her father, "Where is everybody? I thought you were supposed to be fully booked today?"

Mr Granger's expression turned strained, "Our receptionist fell ill last night, and our assistant is on holiday. We couldn't find a replacement so I got stuck with the job while your mother takes the double-shift. We thought it would be best if we told all the appointments to come back in an hour. She's battling a real stubborn root canal at the moment."

Hermione nodded knowingly, "Upper molar?"

"Top left, right in front of a half-emerged wisdom tooth."

Hermione blanched in sympathy as she made her way around to the other side of the reception desk, "Want me to take over? I don't have to go to the lab today."

Mr Granger, who had still been typing with only two fingers, looked incredibly relieved as he bounced out of the seat, "Oh, thank you, Hermione! Yes, that would be excellent – let me just go and tell your mother! Can you call back Mrs Ainsworth and tell her she can come in straight away? I'll just go and set up my equipment…"

Hermione slowly seated herself in the computer chair and, with a soft smile to her erratic father, pulled up the information for his next appointment.

The hours flew by as grouchy appointment-goers came in one after the other, the phone ringing off the hook as more than one complained loudly about the clinic's tardiness. Hermione felt her patience begin to thin as one of their patients chose to knock the pile of business cards neatly stacked on the side of the desk onto the floor, huffing indignantly through a mouthful of blood-soaked cotton-wads. Ah, so that was Mr Root Canal.

Hermione took a deep breath through her nose as she crouched behind the desk, picking up stray pieces of card. She brushed imaginary lint off her clothes as she stood and leant across the table to place the set back on the bench, only to jump in fright. Standing there, watching her unblinkingly was a rather out-of-shape man with thinning blond hair and watery eyes.

"May I help you?" Hermione asked, feeling her heart beat unevenly in her chest.

The man didn't reply, instead choosing to continue staring at her.

Hermione shifted her weight on her feet, leaning back slightly as she glanced at the old computer monitor, "Er, you must be Mr Pettigrew. Why don't you have a seat? We're running a little bit behind today, but it shouldn't be longer than fifteen minutes."

The phone chimed again and Hermione rushed to answer it, happy to have an excuse not to talk to the odd man any longer. She gave him a wan smile as she gestured with her hands toward the line of seats before turning away to type in the appointment request on the other end of the line.

"Yes, yes. Well, we have a spot open on to fourteenth if that suits you? Nine o'clock? Of course, Mr Hamilton. Yes, I hope you have a pleasant day too," with a satisfied _click_ she hung up the phone, glad to not have heard the chime from above the door announcing anyone new walking through them. Closing her eyes, Hermione stretched her arms above her head and felt her back pop. She gave a satisfied sigh as she reclined back into the swivel chair.

Snapping her eyes open, she found herself still being stared at by those disturbing watery eyes.

Hermione squared her shoulders defensively, and said in a much colder tone, "May I help you?"

Pettigrew gave her a simpering smile of too-small, crooked teeth, "You're much prettier than I expected, Miss Granger. I can see why he fell for you."

Hermione felt the blood leave her face, pooling in her stomach with a sense of dread. The man leaned further over the table separating them and Hermione had to force herself not to roll the swivel chair out of reach; he was far within the common courtesy of personal space. Pettigrew's nose twitched not unlike a rat's, "I was just, wondering, Miss Granger, if—"

"Peter Pettigrew?" came a chilly voice from the hallway. Hermione felt relief flood through her at the sight of the willowy, curly-haired brunette woman, whose usually-smiling mouth was turned down in a harsh, jagged line, "Come. It's your turn."

Peter flinched and retracted from where Hermione sat, scarpering into the narrow hallway under the hawk-like eyes of Hermione's mother. Dr Granger turned to her daughter, "You can go home now, dear. Our assistant has called in saying that she has arrived home early from her holiday. I'll have your father take over again until she arrives."

Hermione gave her a bright grin, "Thank you, I'll come back for my appointment another time, I think."

Mrs Granger nodded before a thin smile played over her lips, "Oh my," she feigned, "It seems that we are running low on anaesthetic today. What a shame I just happen to have a double extraction right now…"

ΔOl

Peter whimpered as he tapped softly on his bloated purple cheeks. Sirius and James winced in sympathy.

"Sorry, mate."

Peter mumbled something through the heavy bandages.

Sirius blinked, "Come again?"

"So, what do we do next?" asked James, jabbing a straw into a glass of pumpkin juice and passing it to Peter who sipped at it timidly.

Sirius delved back into Hermione's trusty beaded purse with a grin, pulling out a narrow slip of paper.

"A-ha! Here we are…" flattening the sheet on the tabletop, he proudly presented the receipt to Peter and James.

"Paris? We're going to Paris?" James asked.

"No, _I'm_ going to Paris. _You're_ going to keep Remus off the scent, and I'm pretty sure Peter doesn't want to risk running into Granger's dear old mum again anytime soon. Besides, out of the lot of you, I'm the only one with any grip on French."

James nodded in agreement. When he had gone to visit Remus the night previous, he had been shocked to find Remus's beloved cottage had been turned completely upside-down. Drawers had been pulled out of their slides, clothes tossed across rooms, loose floorboards yanked up, and Remus wandered throughout it all muttering to himself as he flitted back and forth throughout the house in a state of utter disbelief.

"You all right, mate?" James had asked him.

Remus didn't reply for a long time, "I've lost it," he had moaned, distressed.

James grinned cheekily, "I can tell."

"Not me! I mean her bag! Her bag is missing! I've been looking for it everywhere!"

"What do you need a girl's bag for?" James asked slyly.

Remus span on the spot with a look of surprise, as if he had only just realised that James was standing there, "No reason! I just need it!"

James grinned. Remus flushed.

He feigned ignorance, "Could it be Hermione Granger's bag you're looking for?"

Remus grimaced, "How do you know about her?"

"Sirius told me."

"Big-mouthed mutt doesn't know how to keep his nose out of other people's business," Remus muttered darkly, "I bet he's the one who took her bag!"

James coughed uncomfortably, trying to drag Remus's attention away from Sirius's kleptomaniac tendencies, "Er… so what's so special about this Granger girl? I mean, other than the whole 'curing your lycanthropy' thing."

A dopey grin that James had never seen before spread across Remus's face, "She's just… nice, I guess. And sweet. And witty. And— and she just _cares_. She truly, honestly cares. I mean, in her free time she goes and knits sweaters for orphan penguins in Australia! Oswald Beamish couldn't hold a Lumos charm to her!"

"Who?"

"Honestly, did you ever pay attention in History of Magic?"

"No. How do you know about the penguin thing?"

Remus turned a decidedly interesting shade of pink, "I just do!" He nearly shouted.

"Have you been spying on her?" James barely covered a smirk with the back of his hand, pretending to yawn.

His friend instantly became flustered, which was a rare sight, " _I'm not spying on her!_ I'm— I'm just making sure she doesn't report anything suspicious! The Ministry of Magic is already trying to figure out how to approach her about her potion!"

Remus didn't wait for a reply as he turned away with a huff and began to rifle through his cutlery drawer (which was curiously located on the stairwell). James lifted a towel off a table lamp half-heartedly when he heard a sigh.

Remus's shoulders were slumped as he leant heavily against the balustrade, the flustered grimace replaced with a forlorn look.

"I suppose it doesn't matter in the end; I'm a wizard and she's a muggle. I'm far too old for her anyway..."

James was dragged from his memories when a crumpled ball of parchment smacked him on the forehead, "Prongs! Get it together! We're Marauders on a mission here!"

"You guys still call yourselves that?" came a voice from the kitchen doorway. Scruffy haired and bespectacled stood James's grinning son, Harry.

"Harry, m'boy!" Sirius jumped up with glee to loop an arm around his Godson's shoulder, dragging him to the large wooden table, "How have you been?"

Harry ignored him to throw Peter an incredulous look, "What happened to your face?"

Peter mumbled something out from between bruised lips. Sirius waved him off.

"Good to see you here, Harry. We need your opinion since your old man's apparently too thick to even understand which end of a centaur to stay away from."

"Er, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to stay away from both ends."

"Exactly," Sirius winked.

"Hey!" James cried indignantly, sending his son a wounded look when he laughed.

"Anyway, James, as I was trying to tell your dense skull; I'm going to leave the bag with you until I get back, so try and keep it out of sight? Merlin known Remus will go rampaging through my place the moment he realises I'm gone."

James blinked; Sirius seemed to be able to read Remus all too well… or Remus just knew how Sirius ticked. Whichever.

"What are you doing with a woman's purse anyway, Sirius?" Harry asked, eyeing the upended beaded bag sitting innocently on his Godfather's kitchen table. Sirius stood up, dragging James from his own seat.

"It's a long story. Peter can fill you in on the facts. C'mon, Prongs, you can help me pack for Paris," he clapped Peter heavily on the shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen, jolting his jaw and making the poor man moan pitifully. Harry looked confused.

ΔOl

The idea the Hermione makes sweaters for orphaned penguins actually was inspired by a true story of an old man in Australia, who spent his retirement making knitted jumpers for fairy penguins. It just reminded me so strongly of Hermione and her attempts to clothe House Elves I couldn't help but add it in. Review!


	5. Chapter 5: Ovalbumin

Chapter 5: Ovalbumin

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Hermione wandered through the narrower streets of Paris, far from the bustle of Champs-Élysées Avenue, dodging past the overzealous sightseers and the grumpy Parisians that often charged down the High Street battling their way to tourist attractions and boutiques.

Sunglasses perched on her face, she allowed her eyes to wander across the classical architecture and soak in the warming sun. Her seminar regarding animal sanitation rights within veterinary care had just finished; leaving her with the rest of the afternoon to herself before her flight back home. Spotting an empty café Hermione felt her stomach growl. She glanced at her watch, surprised to discover that while her speech had finished early, it had still run two hours past lunchtime. So, leather satchel in hand, she allowed herself to be hustled over by a brusque waiter and settled herself at a private table under the sunshine.

Ordering a croquet-madam, Hermione released the clasp of her brown bag, pulling out the thick paperback she had brought to amuse herself with at the airport. With a satisfied sigh, Hermione leant back in her seat and allowed herself to become absorbed in both her book and her sandwich.

It had been a few trying weeks; fighting with the university over her project along with her regular veterinary internship and lab sessions, she had yet to get rid of that incessant feeling of being watched. It left her nervous and on-edge, making her double-check her front door each day before she left, especially after her more recent confrontations with the opposite sex.

Head filled with romanticised plots of witches, evil wizards, brave knights and werewolves, Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when she realised there was someone sitting opposite her.

" _Bonjour, mademoiselle,"_ a dark-haired man grinned at her. Hermione bit back a groan. Just her luck.

Dressed in large reflective sunglasses, an old band tour shirt with raggedy jeans and boots, the man had slumped into the seat opposite hers, legs lazily kicked out in a way that demanded her attention. Lines had begun to crease his handsome face and (in Hermione's opinion) his midlife crisis had hit him hard. Long, purposely-tousled hair brushed at his shoulders, making him look to be the epitome of a semi-retired eighties rock star.

Glancing through the café's glass window, Hermione was glad to spot the waiter at the counter, suspiciously glaring at the man.

" _Can I help you?"_ she asked democratically in French, straightening her posture.

The man opposite blinked stupidly, _"_ Er… _oui?"_

" _Well then?"_

" _Oui?"_

" _Oh, great,"_ Hermione muttered unimpressed, _"I was hoping for a quiet afternoon."_

The man sat up, whipping off his glasses and gave a toothy grin, "Look, darling, I don't understand a single thing you're saying, but I was wondering—"

" _Of course you wouldn't know what I'm saying. Who tries to chat someone up in French if they can't even speak it?"_

"What? Er, look, I just wanted—"

" _A language lesson, perhaps?"_ Hermione asked smarmily.

The man frowned at her and pointed at her fiction novel with the title boldly printed in English, "Can you speak proper, please? Anyway, I have a friend who—"

" _Proper? In case you haven't noticed you're in France; French is about as proper as you can get."_

The man squinted at her, "Y'know it's rude to speak over someone when they're trying to talk to you."

" _I'd say it's just as rude as sitting at someone's table uninvited."_ With that, Hermione shoved her nose back into her book, hiding her smirk as the man heaved himself forward in his seat.

He gave a frustrated huff, the gleaming smile had long disappeared as he muttered, "Moony better thank me for this; they're perfect for each other – awful sense of humour," he spoke louder, "Hey! I'm trying to talk to you here!"

" _And I'm trying to ignore you,"_ Hermione flicked a page, not raising her head.

The man looked ready to yell at her when the grizzly waiter stormed over and said in a gruff voice, "Are you going to buy eenyzing?"

The man shoved his hands in his pockets, digging through them before he tossed a gold coin the size of a British two pound. It was unlike any currency Hermione had seen; with smooth plating and a broad rim, the coin had no lettering stating its worth. Strange symbols played across its surface and she couldn't help herself as she leaned closer to inspect it.

"Earl Grey, a pot if you don't mind – unless you have anything stronger?"

The waiter picked up the coin and gave a sharp bark of laughter. He tossed it back on the table, "Get out of zis café. We do not need any more swindlers in zese streets."

The man shoved himself to his seat heatedly, coming nose-to-nose with the waiter, "Now see here! That's a whole bloody galleon! I could order three pots with that!"

"We do not accept fake money," the waiter replied coolly.

" _Fake?_ I'll show you fake!"

" _Ah,_ _Détective, what a surprise_." The waiter smiled at someone over the man's shoulder.

A stern-looking woman strutted over toward Hermione's table, dressed in a pressed blue button down and dark dress-pants, her officer badge shining off her lapel and a baton strapped to her waist, _"Is there a problem?"_ she asked, staring suspiciously at the man.

Sirius backed down at the sight of the officer, sending a reproachful glare to the waiter and, with a regretful look at Hermione, stormed out of the café. Hermione watched the man turn a corner and disappear from sight, feeling slightly guilty about the joke she had played on him.

"Do not worry, _mademoiselle_ , we see many of zose types 'ere trying to prey on nice people. Zey are not uncommon," the waiter told her, taking her empty plate.

Hermione picked up the curious coin, and, with an accepting shrug from the server, pocketed it.

"Thank you for your help," Hermione said gratefully as she packed up her satchel, placing her paperback carefully inside as not to crinkle it. Passing a handful of Euros over, Hermione gave a wave to the waiter and the police officer and trotted off to find a taxi.

As she made her way to the main road, she swore she saw a great shaggy dog.

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"I thought you knew French?" James grinned.

Sirius grumbled, sipping on a butterbeer as he knelt in front of the fire, "Well, apparently picking up girls in French and actually speaking French are two different things."

James snorted, blowing coal into his face, making him sneeze.

"Why didn't you stick around and try and clear it up?" James's hands appeared in the fireplace to shove his black-crusted glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Sirius gave a harsh laugh, "I would have been arrested on the spot! Can you see someone like me in prison? I don't think so."

"So, what do we do now?"

Sirius shrugged, "Try again, I suppose. Where's the bag?"

"Hid it in my wardrobe with Lily's stuff in case Remus came snooping around. Which he _did,_ by the way – he was acting like a madman who'd just escaped Azkaban. Broke one of the kitchen cupboard doors, the nutter. Hold on, I'll go grab it."

James's head disappeared from the fireplace. Sirius sat back on the kitchen floor, listening to the soft grumbles of Kreature as he flittered from room to room a few stories up.

A flash of light brought Sirius back to the flames.

"So, where's the bag?" Sirius asked.

A sheepish chuckle burst out of James's lips, the frown not leaving his face, "Er, well… it's just… you see…"

"Spit it out, Prongs."

James winced, "It's sort of… missing."

ΔOl

Review? Yes.


	6. Chapter 6: Potassium Glutamate

Chapter 6: Potassium Glutamate

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Lily Potter strode down the street, her new bracelet chiming happily from her wrist as she hoisted the small, embezzled bag she had found in her wardrobe higher on her shoulder.

It was a charming surprise to discover the intricately beaded purse that glittered in an array of colours as if it had been charmed by magic. James had already given her an anniversary gift earlier that morning with a broad smile and a kiss. She hadn't suspected anything else he could have planned until she discovered his secret gift stuffed between her two favourite handbags.

Lily gazed down at it lovingly, it was truly the perfect bag. Small, but capable of fitting everything she needed in it – especially after she had placed an undetectable extension charm on it. Her friends had _oohed_ and _aahed_ over it in envy when she had caught up with them in the hub for breakfast before they headed off to work in the Ministry.

The London Library was just around the corner now, making Lily smile. She hadn't had a chance to visit it before, always having made use of the Hogwarts Library in her younger years before marrying James and moving to Godric's Hollow. But with James planning a romantic dinner for the two of them, Lily found herself with hours to spare in the city.

Arriving at the white stone building on James' Square Lily clambered up the steps, sweeping through the grand doors with a smile to the woman at the front desk.

The library was familiar. Books lined the walls in multitudes of shapes and sizes, reaching multiple stories high, the coloured spines speckled to resemble an obscure Monet. Busts of stern-looking pompous men sat in dark corners, looking broodily down at any passer-by's. Lily sighed happily, hefting her new purse higher on her shoulder as she trooped into the stacks, pulling out volumes of both fiction and non-fictions until her arms ached with the strain of carrying them. Hobbling out of the aisles, Lily discovered the reading area to be deserted. A table in the far corner of the room was stacked high with medical textbooks that Lily assumed was left for the librarians to organise through and re-shelve. She was walking past to a neighbouring table when she noticed a rather thin title (a pamphlet, really) that promoted how to recognise depression and mental health issues in family and friends.

Remus _had_ seemed a little down lately if her cupboard door had anything to say about it.

Glancing about, Lily lowered herself on one of the two seats not stacked with books, placing her new purse onto a pile that threatened to topple over. Cracking open the thin booklet, she was quickly enthralled in its contents. She was only a quarter of the way through when a soft cough broke through her haze.

A young woman stood opposite her, a soft blush permeating her face. Freckles covered the bridge of her nose, surrounded by a mass of chestnut hair that made her look wild and daring. Wide, brown intelligent eyes looked down at her with a sheepish grin.

"It's a good book, isn't it? I found it rather helpful for my study case," the girl said as she carefully placed a medical encyclopaedia on a nearby tower.

Lily blinked before looking at the table and its contents, embarrassed. The books hadn't been abandoned, the girl had simply been accumulating more, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to take anything from you! I'll return it right away!"

The girl shook her head with a small smile, "It's all right. I've already finished reading most of these. I was just using them for reference. You can take it if you want. I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger."

The girl swiftly offered a hand in a self-assured manner. Lily offered her own with a laugh, "I'm Lily Potter."

Hermione placed a few books on the floor, clearing herself a spot to sit since Lily had taken her previous one before cracking open the encyclopaedia without another word.

Lily studied her carefully as the younger woman's eyes flicked rapidly across pages. She was around Harry's age, with pretty, straight white teeth and softly tanned skin. A large sweater was thrown hastily over a button down with fitted trousers. A pair of reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose, which, if she looked closely, were hiding deep shadows behind them.

The two sat in silence for nearly an hour, though Lily wasn't able to give the booklet her full concentration anymore. Putting it down, Lily felt the overwhelming urge to talk to the young woman.

"Is it your final year?" Lily burst out before she could catch herself.

Hermione jolted, her glasses nearly dislodging themselves from her face, "I'm sorry?"

Lily blushed. She felt oddly intimidated by the woman in front of her with her domineering, yet still polite attitude. James would have laughed at her. She could hear him now.

" _Lily Potter? Afraid? You weren't even scared when the Giant Squid dragged you into the lake in our second year!"_

Lily cleared her throat and tried again, "Are you in your final year at university? What do you study? Psychology? Medicine? Herbology?"

Hermione glanced up, "Herbology? What in the world is—?"

"It's nothing," Lily replied quickly, picking up a werewolf romance novel tucked in the pile. Curious.

Hermione placed her book down, focusing her sole attention on Lily. She hadn't gotten that sort of reaction from someone in a long time, what with Sirius and James acting like they were attached at the hip and Harry's ever-growing enamour for his best friend's sister. She found it both unnerving and flattering.

"It's just that… you have such a broad range of books, I can't tell what exactly you're studying…"

"Oh, these are just for some light reading for a personal project. I got tired of reviewing my thesis and I'm at a bit of a roadblock until I can get my notes back from the school, so I came here to clear my head."

Lily raised her eyebrows. She had always considered herself a book enthusiast, but this was going far beyond her boundaries. "That's quite a lot for 'light reading'."

Hermione bit her lip, "Yes, well I didn't have much else to do – I didn't have any classes and the practice doesn't need me until later today, so I thought I'd get a head start before the holidays."

"What about your friends? Surely not all of them wouldn't have been able to spend time with you, even if it was to just keep you company?"

Hermione's freckles seemed to darken under her blush as she mumbled something incoherent and Lily watched in surprise as a barrier seemed to collapse. She felt a kindred soul – Hermione was just like her before she started at Hogwarts, mocked for her strangeness and intellect. Sadly, this woman – no, _girl_ – had obviously never had the chance to grow out of that stage. She probably attended a school from Kindergarten to twelfth year with the same class, never able to fit in – too proud and strong-willed to ever let her guard down, which probably continued into university. Hermione was lonely.

Lily gave a tight shake of her head, "I don't know about you but I'm starting to feel hungry. Did you want to go and grab some lunch?"

Hermione looked up in surprise, blinking those chocolatey eyes in astonishment. Lily wondered if she had ever been asked out to lunch before.

"Sure," Hermione said in a small voice, "But I have to return all of these books first."

She stood up then, grabbing a hefty pile, politely refusing Lily's offer to help, and disappeared into the stacks.

A few minutes later she returned to pick up another armful of books and promised Lily she would meet her at the nearby café.

With a wave to Hermione's retreating back, Lily pulled her purse's strap over her shoulder and left the library, glad that she had brought some Muggle money along with her along with her regular galleons and sickles. The café wasn't too crowded as it was still quite early for lunch, so Lily grabbed a couples table by the window looking out toward the street.

It would be nice to have a friend not connected to the Wizarding World, she mused. Witches and wizards were so set in their ways that it was difficult to share her more open-minded beliefs and experiences with them. Not even James fully understood at times.

The chime of the café's overhanging doorbell announced Hermione's arrival. Lily gave her a quick wave and she wandered over, a small spring in her step. Hermione made a joke of her tardiness which Lily laughed at, leading her to tell a funny anecdote about James and his friends.

The waiter continued to refill their water pitcher as they sat for hours, swapping life stories and theories. Hermione had a lovely smile when she showed it. Her cheeks dimpled and she would throw her head back when she laughed. It was a warming feeling, far different from the cool, collected Hermione that she had initially met; the one that had left her, a forty-one-year-old woman, feeling intimidated by.

Hermione continued to laugh as she gasped for air, waving a hand in front of her in mercy after Lily had retold a story about Harry's first introduction to a niffler (which she had smartly replaced with a magpie, with their love for shiny things). Lily felt her cheeks begin to ache in return. Hermione looked down at her watch.

"We've been here for three hours! I'm so sorry, but I really do need to go. I have to be at the aviary in an hour to check up on an eagle with a broken jaw. Apparently, it decided to try and yank out some of the owner's horse's tail hairs, so the bird got a nasty hit in the beak when it bucked."

"Poor thing. Here, let me give you my address," Lily placed her purse on the table, rifling through for a pen and a piece of parchment, "I'm sorry to say that I don't own a mobile phone, but perhaps we can meet up again next week? Tuesday, maybe?"

Lily glanced up when she didn't hear a response. Hermione was staring at her beaded purse.

The older woman grinned, "It's lovely, isn't it? I believe it's hand-made. My husband got it for me for our anniversary today—"

"You couldn't have," Hermione said in a flat tone.

"Beg your pardon, dear?"

Hermione shook her head, "You couldn't have gotten that off your husband because that's _my_ purse."

Lily gave an awkward laugh, "I can assure you it is. I found it in my closet this morning. How else could it have gotten there? You must have had one similar."

Hermione wasn't laughing, however. In fact, she looked downright furious.

"That is impossible. That bag is one of a kind. My grandmother made it for me before she passed away over seventeen years ago. It was stolen from me by a dog. Now please, give it back."

Lily pulled the purse closer to her, "And I told you, James got this as a gift for me. You must be mistaken. I'm sorry about your purse, but this one is mine."

Hermione let out a sound close to a growl, "Oh, just let me show you!"

She snatched the bag, ignoring Lily's shocked cry and groping hands that reached for it across the narrow table, unzipping the farthest compartment (which, thankfully, Lily had not placed the extension charm on) and shoved its tag in her face. There, written in worn ink with the handwriting belonging only to a child first learning to write was the name, _Hermione Granger_.

ΔOΙ

"JAMES!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't know you were going to find it!"

Lily flung one of her white heels at her husband who scampered out of the doorway, and picked up the second one, charging out of the room. She discovered him in the lounge room, using a rather bemused Harry (who had obviously just appeared from out of the Floo, still covered in soot) as a shield against his raging wife.

"Er, hello, mum," Harry offered weakly, trying to pry his father's fingers from his shoulders, looking rather nervous under the woman's heated glare, "You look nice."

"Thank you, dear. Good day at training?" Lily asked distractedly, lowering her shoe with a warning look at James before she turned to her son.

Harry, having been relinquished from his father's rather tight grasp, dusted himself down. James looked at his ash-blackened hands in disgust but made no move to leave in fear of getting too close to Lily's firing range. Lily was momentarily brought back to the time in fifth year when he had suggested she try out for beater on the Quidditch team after she had lobbed her Transfiguration book at him for a particularly crude remark.

Harry shrugged, "It was okay. Mostly filled out paperwork today. Ron tried to get out of it by taking one of his brothers' – y'know, Fred and George – gag sweets, but Mad-Eye wasn't falling for that one. Duhamond just pulled the same trick last week, so Ron ended up getting us double which is why I'm so late."

Lily gave him a fond smile, before sending her husband a withering glare, "Well, at least one of you boys is capable of taking responsibility."

Harry blinked between the two, "Er, is everything all right?"

Lily smoothed down her hair, "Oh, everything is fine, sweetheart. Just that your father was able to both mortify and embarrass me beyond comprehension without even being in the same city."

James rolled his eyes with a belligerent huff, "Well maybe you shouldn't have been such a show-off."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, dear!" James grimaced under his wife's pointed glare.

Lily raised an eyebrow before turning back to her son with a warm smile, "Harry, have you eaten yet? You must be famished. And just your luck; it appears that there's just been a free reservation at that little Italian place Ginny likes so much. You should take her along."

James stood to attention, "What? Lily! You can't—!"

Lily gave her husband another look, making him fall silent.

Glancing between his parents, Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. Something was going on between his parents he didn't fully understand, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. "Erm, yeah. I guess so… let me go see if she's free…"

In a flurry of green fire, Harry was gone.

"Lily-flower! You can't just give our reservation away! It took me two weeks to get that table!" James shoved his hands through his hair, an exact mirror of his son just moments ago.

Lily stalked forward, shoving the pointed heel of her shoe in her husband's face threateningly, "And it's going to take you another two weeks to get a new one. I just gave up my anniversary dinner and I expect you to explain exactly what is going on. Now."

Cross-eyed, staring down the end of the white shoe, James cursed himself for ever thinking that his life would be simpler after he married Lily Evans.

ΔOl


	7. Chapter 7: Albumin

Chapter 7: Albumin

ΔOl

James stared sullenly at Sirius from across the room. They were in Remus' cottage, crowded around the man's radio, listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network in hopes of catching the scores to the England versus Albania game. Remus had tottered off to the garden to do some de-gnoming with Peter (who was now bruise and bandage free) since neither of them held any real interest in Quidditch broadcasts, much to their other friends' horror.

Sirius quirked a brow catching James' glower, "What?"

James refused to speak, instead deciding to continue glaring broodily in his best friend's direction. Sirius sighed.

"Are you still mad about that stupid purse? I said I was sorry. Although I don't even know what I'm sorry about, really. None of this would have happened if you weren't rubbish at hiding things. I mean, is it really that hard to cast a disillusionment charm?"

"Lily hasn't talked to me in days," James pouted childishly.

Sirius smirked, "Must have made your anniversary night awkward, eh?"

James stuck his bottom lip out petulantly, "She wouldn't even let me transfigure the couch to sleep on."

Sirius winced in sympathy. James winced at the twinge in his neck.

"So, what do we do now? We've lost our biggest clue thanks to your dearest. Where is she anyway? I thought Peter said she was going to be here to help with the clean-up." Sirius gestured to the remaining shambles that still surrounded the two, left over from Remus' breakdown. In classic Marauder fashion, instead of _actually_ cleaning the two had happily shoved the mess into Remus' linen cupboard and claimed it a success.

James shrugged, glancing through the window to see Remus threatening a bed of tantrum-ridden honking daffodils with his trowel, "She went over to Harry's to give him some leftovers; she doesn't think he's feeding himself properly since he moved out and started Auror training. She still hasn't caught on that Harry's been tossing them out and heading over to Molly Weasley's the moment she leaves."

A strange look flashed across Sirius' face. He turned to James with a satisfied grin, "Harry gets breaks from training, right?"

Bemused, James slowly nodded, "He's got tomorrow and Thursday off."

"You think he'd be up for a job on the side?"

ΔOl

Ron jabbed Harry sharply in the ribs with his elbow. He hissed, glaring at his red-haired friend who was staring off across the courtyard with a pinched expression and a mouth full of Scotch egg, "Izzat 'er?" he mumbled, crumbs flying everywhere, pointing a finger to where a girl with bushy brown hair was walking into a lecture hall.

Harry nodded: she fit the description Sirius and his dad had given him. He silently motioned to Ron to follow and the two made their way across the greens to the intimidating building of St. George's. Harry ignored the curious looks as they walked by a large gaggle of girls – he knew what they were staring at. Ron had taken it upon himself to dress up as a muggle and had headed directly for his father's closet in an attempt to find something suitable. Of course, by the time Harry had found out about Ron's disguise they were already running late.

The Hawaiian button-down shirt clashed horribly with his hair, covered in an orange and pink sunset and spattered with blue and green surfboards. Ron didn't seem to mind it, but he did complain about the tartan knickerbockers.

"They're a bit tight past the knees," he had said while slipping on a pair of Wellingtons.

Harry blushed as a girl pulled out a camera with a laugh when they passed.

He happily slipped into the building where it was cool and dark. Nearly all of the seats were empty except for a spattering in the front row. But there, right in the middle of the lecture hall, was Hermione Granger. A stack of books was propped on her left side and what appeared to be a miniature television sat on her right.

Jerking his head, Harry and Ron swiftly took the seats behind her. The girl didn't lift her head as she scribbled frantically in a notebook on the fold-out table. Harry saw Ron wrinkle his nose at the miniature library seated next to her and he felt inclined to agree.

The lecture hall trailed in a few extra students, leaving a total of fourteen including Ron and himself. A rather pretentious-looking man strolled in shortly after and rapped the podium placed at the front of the hall with a pointer stick, "Settle down. Settle down," the man told the already quiet room, pulling up a slide on the blank white screen behind him with a name typed across it in bold, black letters, "I am your guest speaker for this morning's oration, Professor Pompóus – the 's' is silent, thank you very much…' he glanced down at a sheet of paper, ' _Mr. Weatherby_. Do not think that I can't see you snorting like a deranged subspecies of the _Megatherium Americanum_ back there—" Ron glowed red in the dim light at the insult, even though neither he nor Harry understood it, "—and today we will be focusing on the scientific evolution of antibody glycoengineering…"

Harry felt his eyelids begin to droop; the man's snobbish voice was quickly turning into a steady hum in the back of his mind, much like Professor Binns' always had. He had been up most of the night following a lead on some smugglers selling spitting kettles to muggles, which spouted hot water with a flurry of curses whenever it reached boiling point. The masses of paperwork that had awaited him back at the office did little to help his already torpor attitude.

"…Mr. Evans, is it?" Harry jolted upright at his mother's maiden name, "Care to share with the class your thoughts on the progressive nature of N-linked glycosylation in cancerous cells?"

"What?" Harry said intelligently.

Professor Pompóus sneered in a way that reminded Harry of Potions class, "I just assumed that you must be an expert on the subject since you have not even bothered to open your textbook."

Harry blushed, snatching the book Ron offered to him with a grin and flipped through the pages nervously. He glanced over at Hermione who was staring at him with an unimpressed look.

"Turn to page 394," Pompóus barked out. Ron stuffed a hand in his mouth to smother his chortles as Harry finally flicked to the right page, "Do you find something humorous, Weatherby?"

Ron grimaced, "N-no, Professor Pompous— I mean, _Pompóus!_ "

Hermione tutted disapprovingly from the seat in front of them.

"Then perhaps you can help Mr Evans by providing your own thoughts on the scientific developments of glycosylation in cells with signs of cancer?"

Ron looked relieved, much to Harry's surprise, "Cancer's sign? Oh, that's easy, we learnt stars back in third year; Lavender used to harp on me about it all the time. Cancer is part of the Watery Trigon with the four elements: fire, earth, air and water. There was something about Saturn's third or seventh moon aligning with Jupiter every Sunday at tea-time, but I forgot..."

The room seemed to have been hit with a wayward _stupefy_ as Ron looked around proudly, sending a wink to the silent Hermione who stared back, gaping unattractively.

"You _cannot_ be serious." she finally stated.

"What?"

Hermione shook her head hard, her wild hair flying around her round face, "Did you seriously just recite some far-fetched drivel on astrological signs? _Do you even know what this lecture is about_?"

"I am speculating that myself, Miss Granger," Professor Pompóus drawled (he truly was like a muggle version of Snape, Harry mused), "How about you do us all a favour and pretend to understand what you'll be reading to the group, Mr Weatherby. Come along now, page 394, just like Mr Evans. Second paragraph."

Harry watched Ron scrunch up his nose as he stared down at the page. He could sympathise; Harry had never even heard of most of these words before and they definitely overstepped his comforting three-syllable limit.

He cringed as Ron cleared his throat. Licked his lips nervously. Fixed the collar of his shirt. Looked at his watch. Double-checked he was on the right page—

"Any day now, Mr Weatherby," Professor Pompóus rapped his pointer sharply against the podium, the rest of the room mimicking his dark glare.

"Oh, okay… yeah," Ron stuttered, embarrassed. Clearing his throat again he began to read.

It was difficult to listen to him, almost as bad as the time when Ron's niece, the previously voiceless Victoire, had loudly proclaimed 'Bloody hell!' during the family Christmas feast. Bill and Fleur had been furious.

"Er, right. As a key step toward achieving… Mass _Spectre-o-metre-y…_ a panel of related _trip-tick peep-tides_ with and without complex—" Ron paused here as he squinted at the page, mouthing out each syllable, "—b _uy-antennae-y, dizzy-elated, N-glee-cans_ was chemically developed by solid-phased _peep-tide_ sympathise – er, sorry, I meant 'synthesis'. Mass _Spectre-o-metre-y_ is the process of quantifying the relative distribution of _glee-cans_ attached to particular protein _glee-colonisation_ sites, known as _micro-hetero-gene-ity_ —"

"Oh, for goodness sake, it's pronounced microheterogeNEITY, not microheteroGENEity," Hermione snapped, slamming her own textbook shut as she whirled on them.

Ron's face glowed in the dark as the room snickered.

"Well, why don't _you_ tell us then if you're so smart? Go on, go on," Ron jeered, flustered.

Hermione huffed, swiftly turning to the professor and stated with a confidence Harry never expected from the girl, who didn't even bother to glance at her closed book, "As a key step toward Mass Spectrometry, a panel of related tryptic peptides with and without complex, biantennary, disialylated N-glycans was chemically developed by solid-phase peptide synthesis. Mass Spectrometry is the process of quantifying the relative distribution of glycans attached to particular protein glycosylation sites, known as _microheterogeneity._ "

Harry was awestruck, she hadn't even stuttered. But Hermione wasn't finished yet; with a mean smirk she called out, "And to answer your previous question, Professor Pompóus, reactive monoclonal antibodies have been found to have positive effects on a broad range of sequences including methionine oxidation, proteolytic fragmentation, lysine truncation, deamidation and N-glycosylation. The binding of the sugar particles helps strengthen and direct the spread of white blood cells, making them more durable and resistant to disease and illness," Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked Ron and Harry in the eye, "I learnt that in third year too."

Professor Pompóus gave an awarding nod in her direction, and by the way Hermione's face lit up Harry supposed that it truly was a rare sight. But the pleased look on the Professor's face was wiped off as quickly as one of Ron's mother's cleaning spell when he turned to face Harry and Ron.

"Did you to think you could just walk into one of my lectures and suddenly know the criteria like _magic_? Were you two so dim-witted that you thought you could wave a silly wand and mutter some spells and suddenly understand thousands of years of genetic makeup and hereditary cellular mutation? No? Well then, I suggest that you don't come back until you both find that you discover that neither elves nor pixies are real! Now get out! Out! Out!"

The two Aurors-in-training scurried out of their seats, weaving past the empty lecture chairs into the aisle. Harry threw a remorseful look at Hermione before Ron grabbed his shoulder and dragged him up the short flight of stairs, shoving the doors leading to the courtyard open and hauling him through.

Ron was in a very bad mood, "I don't know what Lupin sees in her," he said to Harry as the door swung on its axis, "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Harry, who was still feeling a bit off-kilter by the whole experience, just muttered, "Yeah."

"I'd rather be a nightmare than utterly puerile," Hermione said, making the two jump. She'd snuck out of the hall just behind them, a look of hurt on her face, "I came out here to apologise, but I think I'll keep it for someone who actually deserves it."

At Harry's guilty silence and Ron's blustering, she scoffed, jutting her chin out, "You've got dirt on your nose by the way, did you know?" she told Ron, tapping the bridge of her nose, "Just there."

ΔOl

"So?" James asked, "Learn anything?"

Sirius and Peter leaned forward in their seats watching Harry and Ron turn a deep matching red.

"Well, I learnt that we should eat sugar because it is good for you… or was it that we shouldn't?"

"No, no, there was something about binding it to you. I think you're supposed to wear a satchel of it around your neck to ward off the second moon of Jupiter, like vampires—!"

"Are you sure it wasn't Saturn? I could have sworn—"

"Oi! Stay focused, you two. What did you learn about Hermione?" Sirius barked out.

Harry blushed, "Oh, right, sorry. Er, I guess she's really smart?"

Ron sniffed, "A bleeding know-it-all, really."

Sirius rolled his eyes, "We already knew that. Probably why Moony's so mad about her."

"Mad about who?" Remus asked, strolling through the kitchen toward the teapot.

"Remus! What are you doing here?" James nearly shouted.

Remus gave him a curious look, pouring himself a cup of earl grey, "You invited me, remember?"

"Oh, did I? Must have forgotten," James laughed gaily and Sirius kicked him. He yelped before giving a pained smile at Remus who raised a brow. Peter sniggered.

The trio (plus Harry and Ron) watched nervously as Remus hummed, adding four cubes of sugar to his tea before he set it down on its saucer, "So, who am I mad about?"

Sirius shared a look of dread with Peter and James. Harry and Ron just looked confused.

"Er, Lily?" Peter squeaked.

Remus gave Peter a baffled look, "You know she's been married to James for two decades, right?" Peter flushed.

"Madame Rosmerta?" Sirius offered next.

"That's you who fancies Rosmerta, Sirius. Try again."

"Tonks!" James practically yelled, hopping in his seat.

"Who's Tonks?" Remus asked.

"Sirius's cousin!"

Sirius punched James in the shoulder, "Yeah, that's my _cousin_ , Prongs," he hissed.

"Sorry," James muttered, rubbing his arm.

Remus gave a huff and squared his shoulders intimidatingly, "So… which one is it?"

"Er…" the trio muttered under their friend's withering glare.

"Hey, Remus, have they started mass-producing a cure yet?" Harry asked out of the blue. Sirius had never been more thankful for his godson.

Remus gave Harry a surprised look before shaking his head with a grim smile, his friends all but forgotten, "Not yet. They don't exactly know the process to make it, you see. And the Ministry is still wrapped up in red tape over the implications of revealing magic to a muggle who hasn't any relations or investments to the wizarding world…"

Sirius leaned back in his seat. Peter and James silently slapped hands in congratulations behind Remus's back with matching grins as Remus warbled on to a rather bored (but persevering) Harry about werewolf rights and law developments.

Sirius was going to buy the kid a brand-new broomstick the next time he was in Diagon Alley.

ΔOl


	8. Chapter 8: MRC-5 Cells

Chapter 8: MRC-5 Cells

ΔOl

Hermione sprayed the metal tabletop mechanically, wiping away the loose fur and fluids before tossing the soiled rag into the nearby bin. She glanced at her schedule taped to the wall and was surprised to find that her next patient was a domesticated owl.

"Must be from one of the nearby conservations," she muttered to herself. She had always liked owls; mystical and intelligent creatures they were, "Severus Snape. What an odd name…"

Grabbing her bucket of disinfectant Hermione began to scrub her tools clean, being wary not to nick herself on any of the sharpened scalpels. Tossing them in their designated drawers and cupboards, Hermione half-heartedly listened to the radio as it echoed through from the reception room down the hall. The quiet buzz of conversation filtered above her head as she peeled off her gloves, throwing them in the wastage basket before reaching for the phone in the far corner of the room. Pressing the speed-dial, Hermione waited for the receptionist to pick up.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Send in Mr Snape please, Jeremy. I'm ready for him."

Jeremy gave an affirmative reply and she hung up, reaching for the box of latex gloves sitting primly on the filing cabinet beside her. Hermione heard the cheery call for Mr Snape, who replied in a dreary tone, making his way up the hallway toward her office. She lifted her head at the soft rapping on the door and gave her perfected patient-reserved smile. A man garbed in black stood there. Thin, lanky hair that looked in good need of a wash threatened to fall into his eyes, his nose was disproportionally long in comparison to the rest of his pallid face and his eyes were as dark as his clothes. Hermione felt her smile falter under his sneer.

Composing herself, she gave her recycled welcome, "Hello there, I'm Dr Hermione Granger. You must be Mr Snape—"

" _Professor_ Snape," the man snapped.

"Er, yes. Sorry. Well, what can I do for you today? I believe you have an owl you need me to look at?"

"Obviously," Snape lifted his arm which held a large steel cage. A brown barn owl sat on a perch staring unblinkingly at her with big eyes.

Hermione accepted the cage, placing it carefully on the steel tabletop, "Do you know what happened to it?"

At the shake of his head, she opened the cage, allowing the bird to hop out and wobble its way across the table. Hermione could see a rather large gash on one of its wings that sluggishly seeped plasma and blood. Creeping closer, she studied it as well as she could without touching the bird or placing it under any excessive stress. The owl flapped its wings feebly in an attempt to lift itself off the ground every time she moved too suddenly but struggled to make itself airborne.

"It looks like it has been mauled by something. Oftentimes when a bird comes in it has been caught on a barbed-wire fence or something equally sharp, leaving the edges jagged, but you can see here that each of the punctures are quite evenly spaced with little to no interference. None of the tendons or nerves seemed to have been damaged, thankfully. She'll just need a few stitches is all."

Snape said nothing as Hermione reached out for the owl, carefully opening its wing and reviewing the way the bite mark pinched under the folds of skin and feathers, before heading for her anaesthetic, needle and thread, "Where did you find the owl?"

"Scotland, at the school. Our caretaker Mr Filch found it this morning."

Hermione frowned, "Scotland is a far way to travel to a veterinary clinic. Surely there was somewhere closer?"

"The owl emporium we usually take our owls to was overbooked. This clinic has been considered one of the best… by muggle standards."

There was that word again; the same one the strange man in the underground had used. Hermione furrowed her brow and chose to ignore the snide remark as she pierced the owl's numbed skin with the needle and thread, wary of causing it too much pain.

"Well, it looks like a bite of some sort. Most probably a large dog or – if they were still around – a wolf by the size."

Snape, who had grimaced, stated in (seemingly commonplace) disdain, "Disgusting creatures."

"Wolves?" Hermione asked, curious about the man's hatred for them. Perhaps he had had a bad experience with one in the past, "Wolves are one of the most complex animals on the planet. Their development of social hierarchy groupings and hunting packs have led to thousands of discoveries on not only the animal kingdom but also human nature itself. I think they're fascinating as they are tantamount to the development of the structured modern world. Why, in mythology, werewolves—"

"Are by far the worst. It is sickening to consider somebody to be considered normal after being bitten."

Hermione, who had long finished her stitches and was diligently binding the owl's wing, stopped short. Something about this man made her angry in a way her superiors were only able to, "I personally believe that there would be nothing wrong with a person who had been bitten by a werewolf, even if it is fictional. After all, they are just like regular humans despite one night a month."

Snape whipped around, his dramatic (and odd) dark cloak swirled around his feet, "They are barbaric monsters with no sense of control and deserved to be locked up!"

Hermione bit her tongue from retorting. Hard.

"Perhaps we will have to agree to disagree," Hermione concluded primly, tucking the owl back in its cage. She knew from previous years of efforts that it was exceedingly difficult to change a bigot's mind once they were set upon it, "Now, your owl mustn't be allowed to fly for another two weeks, if she is becoming restless, I would suggest allowing her outside, but keeping her tethered at the ankle so she cannot fly. Too much movement may disrupt the stitches, causing them to snap. After that, a week of short flights less than two hours so it can build up its strength again. Good day, Mr Snape."

"You're a foolish little girl, Miss Granger," Snape sneered, snatching the proffered cage which held the barn owl and storming out of the room.

Hermione fought the urge to slam the door behind him.

ΔOl

Snape stalked his way down the empty third-floor corridor, his shoes making a dull slap against the slabs. The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was just up ahead; Lupin was closing the door behind himself with a cheery hum. Despite the full moon having only been just last night, he looked rather refreshed – not a hint of shadowing underneath his eyes.

Snape's sallow face darkened as he swept past. Lupin glanced up in surprise when Snape's shoulder collided with his, making him drop the books stacked in his arms.

Lupin gave a resigned sigh before bending down to collect his tomes, "What do you want?"

Snape scoffed, glancing around the corridor as if it was far more interesting to stare at than the man in front of him, "I just wanted to see how you were coming along since being reinstated as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, even though it is obvious that I am _far_ more qualified for the role. Although I suppose the reason you got it was as some sort of dog-treat for overcoming that disgusting disease of yours."

Lupin's face twisted into a snarl as he stood, "I find that highly unlikely since I have been hired for the position twice now. Dumbledore hasn't even considered you for the role, even when he was desperate," Lupin's face twisted into a sneer he must have learnt from Potter, his idiotic son had worn the same expression during his years as a student as well, "I wish you luck teaching Potions for the rest of your life, but I suppose if you're looking for a new position I'm sure Dumbledore would be willing to consider you for… say, Divination?"

Snape had to clench his fists to restrain himself from throwing a hex in Lupin's face. He could feel the inside of his cheek bleeding from where he had bitten it, "I suppose you want to be congratulated then? After all, it seems that since you've rid yourself of your fleas, people seem to think that you have become less abhorrent than usual. Even the muggles are jumping on the disgusting werewolf bandwagon," Snape tilted his head forward in a mocking bow.

"The muggles?" Lupin asked.

But Snape ignored him, striding off down the corridor out of sight.

ΔOl

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	9. Chapter 9: Sodium Ethylene Acid

Chapter 9: Sodium Ethylenediaminetetracetic Acid

ΔOl

Hermione trotted down the length of the supermarket with her half-filled trolley, mentally reviewing her shopping list. Her parents were coming over for dinner that night and, despite the obvious years of success with living by herself, both her mother and father always made a grand show about her being alone and constantly heckling her to move back in with them. So, every time she invited them to dinner, Hermione found she had to make an event of it to prove herself.

Placing a large roast into her trolley with a satisfied nod, she pushed it toward the desserts. She wasn't much for sweets, but with years of knowledge and love only a tightly-knit family could show, Hermione knew her father had a deep affection for dark chocolate with a high-cocoa content, and after her encounter with the strange man in their dentistry that had set both her and her mother's teeth on edge, she decided she could afford to bake a cake, just to try and ward off the impending requests to move back in with them.

It was then that Hermione saw a peculiar old man traversing down the sweets aisle. Dressed in what she only could describe to be a bright blue dressing gown of sorts, he was covered in yellow stars that glistened under the harsh fluorescents, the loose sleeves rustling as he raised a hand to tap a chin seated under an impressive white beard that was so long he had tucked it into the belt wrapped around his waist. A tall, pointed hat sat jauntily on top of his head in a horrid burnt-orange, bumbling about happily as he moved. Hermione watched the old man carefully reach out for a packet of mints, before retracting his hand with a shake of his head.

The piecing war cry of a tantrum-tolling toddler broke her out of her musings and made her jump, her elbow painfully ramming itself into the nearby display of chocolate slabs she'd been considering, sending them clattering onto the vinyl floor each with a loud _slap_. The old man glanced up.

"Oh, hello," he said, surprisingly sharp blue eyes twinkled cheerily, "Are you all right?"

Hermione felt herself quickly turn red as she bent at the knees, shuffling to hurriedly pick up the fallen confectionaries, "Er, yes, I–I'm fine, sir. Just wasn't looking where I was going..."

Quickly scooping up the last of the slabs, Hermione didn't even glance at them in her embarrassment and shoved them into her basket, tucking a curl behind her ear as she attempted to regain her composure. She didn't know why she felt so off-kilter around this bizarrely-dressed man, but something about his face spoke of intelligence and a soundness that appeared beyond even his aged years.

He chuckled, "You seem to have quite the sweet tooth."

Hermione glanced down and flushed even darker, carefully pulling out a few of the bars that were threatening to overflow her basket, "Oh, no. These are just for my father… He's quite fond of chocolate and I thought I might surprise him."

"I know a particular young man who shares the same fondness. Especially after full-moons. I feel you would find a rather interesting match in him. You see, young love has always left a weakness in my heart."

Hermione blanched. Was this man trying to set her up with his grandson?

She tried for a polite decline, "Oh, well, that's rather interesting to know, however—"

The man happily cut her off, "I'm terribly sorry, my dear, I never introduced myself. I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. And you are?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied automatically.

Something sharpened in Mr Dumbledore's ancient eyes, "Really? Well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Granger, it appears that my intuition is far better than I originally believed. But now I will have to ask you something of extreme and utter importance."

Hermione didn't have time to question how Mr Dumbledore seemed to know her as worry began to build in her chest, "What is it?"

A smile curled its way from his lips up to his eyes, and he waved a hand out to the brightly-coloured packets and wrappers, gesturing between two, "Which do you prefer? Sherbet lemon or pistachio toffee? I haven't tried either of them myself, but I've recently found myself craving for the... unusual."

Relief swept over Hermione as the deep paranoia of being scrutinised and judged left her. The last time she made the mistake of not second-guessing someone, a rather enamoured owner of a recently de-sexed Chihuahua had followed her home, "Oh, I'm more a fan of sherbet lemons, personally. Toffee does some really terrible things to your teeth."

Mr Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at that. Hermione blushed, "My parents are dentists," she admitted softly.

The old man's smile turned wider as he reached for the bag of sherbet lemons, plucking it calmly from the shelf and tearing open the packet right in the middle of the store. Hermione watched aghast as he popped one of the sour pieces into his mouth, sucking on it before cheerily announcing, "Well I must say you have excellent taste, Miss Granger; in sweets and in company. Do take good care of Mr Lupin, won't you?"

And with that, the peculiar old man dressed in the star-covered bathrobe and pointed orange hat made his way down the end of the aisle and out of sight, leaving Hermione rather gobsmacked.

ΔOΙ

Remus reached over for a piece of butternut squash pie. The Great Hall was bustling with sound as students called out to one another across the four tables. It was the Great Feast at Hogwarts and, following the weekend, Monday would officially be his first day returning as a teacher. He had been surprised when the owl had arrived from Dumbledore requesting his return as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. His friends had all been supportive of his choice of reinstatement. A few of the older students who recognised him as having taught their siblings looked up and waved. He happily smiled back.

Dumbledore sat next to him with Professor Sprout on his other side at the head table. Taking a bite of his pie, he half-heartedly listened to Professor Dumbledore's expedition to a muggle shop, "…they are called sherbet lemons. Oh, you must try one, Minerva, they are truly delightful. Actually, Remus, I have your dearest to thank for that."

Remus choked on a mouthful of filling, "I beg your pardon, Professor? My 'dearest'?"

Dumbledore blinked down at him, "Why yes. Miss Granger is a rather charming woman if I may say."

"Granger? As in _Hermione Granger_? How do you know about her?"

"Why through Mr Potter, Mr Black and Mr Pettigrew, of course. They were rather excited at the concept of you finally settling down with someone. Although they did follow that comment with a rather colourful array of insults. I believe Mr Black called you a 'dim-witted, spineless coward'. They all seem rather adamant about helping you win Miss Granger's favour."

"Do they now?" Remus scowled, pushing away his plate, distractedly watching the food on it disappear with barely a whisper and standing with a grim grin, "Please excuse me, Headmaster, it appears that I will be detained for the rest of the weekend. I'll be back before classes start Monday morning."

Receiving a final sneer from Snape as he strode past, Remus pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, letting them fall shut behind him.

ΔOl

This is my favourite chapter. I've always wondered how Dumbledore stumbled upon muggle sweets. Also book-version Dumbledore had such a flair for fashion, it's sad that it didn't translate onto the big screen. Review!


	10. Chapter 10: Polygeline

Chapter 10: Polygeline

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Sirius slammed his hands against the tabletop and glared down at Peter and James, who sat ramrod straight in their seats.

"Let's review, shall we?" Sirius began, an acid-green quick-quote quill floated at the ready over a sheet of parchment by his hand, "We've tried the gentle way; thought of everything we could on how to approach Miss Granger on non-threatening grounds, and _it hasn't worked_. What we need to do now is be more direct!"

"'B-be more direct'?" Peter stuttered, "What do you mean?"

Sirius shrugged easily, "We act like what we are; wizards. All we need to do is confound her and Apparate her straight to Remus."

James choked on his own breath, "We can't do that! Do you know what the consequences are for exposing magic to muggles?"

"We're not going to end up in Azkaban," Sirius rolled his eyes before slapping at the quill which had been scribbling furiously beside him, "I said 'Azkaban', you stupid thing, not 'Alakazam'. Were you even listening?"

"Even so, Sirius, if we expose Hermione to magic like that who knows how it's going to affect her? She's one of those muggle healers after all – Lily says that they're the sceptical sort."

"I heard that Bertha Jorkins was dumped by a muggle just last week after he found out she was a witch," Peter added.

"Or it could have been her incessant need to talk about everyone and everything _all the time_ ," Sirius retorted unkindly.

Peter shrugged but didn't argue the fact.

James levelled him a look and Sirius threw his hands up in the air, nearly knocking the green quill entirely off the table, "Fine! What do you suggest we do then?"

James stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Plan G?"

ΔOl

Hermione picked up a kaffir lime from the stand that stood outside the local market. With a frown, she quickly replaced it with another, staring at the green skin contemplatively. Vendors stood outside of their stalls yelling into the street at passing people, their arms laden with fresh fruits and produce.

Tucking the lime into her basket along with her pears and apples, she quickly brought it to the teller, smiling politely as the grouchy owner rung up her order before bagging it with less than a farewell and moodily called for the next customer.

Arms laden with fruits and meats, Hermione shifted her way through the thick crowd, dodging and weaving professionally around Danish tourists' wayward elbows and local Londoners' commonplace sneers toward the bus stop. She paused at the sound of somebody yelling.

"Hermione! Hey, Hermione!"

She swivelled on the spot, looking around for whoever was calling her, and over the crowd spotted a manically waving hand rise above the heads in her direction. Moving to the side of the path as to not get knocked over, Hermione squinted through the crowd to see who was calling for her; a hint of messy black hair made itself apparent as the crowd thinned and glasses sat on the end of a man's nose. He was in his forties and grinning manically at her. Hermione had the vague sense of knowing this man, but she couldn't recall from where…

Then, without any notice, the man tripped as if he had been bowled over by an invisible force, tumbling sideways into the grouchy grocers Hermione had just left. The man's arms flailed wildly, knocking over a display of strawberries and sending the open punnets flying onto unsuspecting customers, before pin-wheeling into a carton of honeydew melons, making them splatter to the ground until he finally collapsed on top of a pallet of unpacked mangos, which squelched unpleasantly beneath him.

He blinked stupidly as fruit juice soaked into his jacket and jeans, his glasses sitting askew on his face, and Hermione winced in sympathy as angry customers circled the man, yelling at having been hit by wayward fruit before the grocer stormed over, furiously swearing at the man in Bulgarian.

More and more people began to make their way over to the scene, and Hermione had to duck as a large woman barrelled her way through, beady eyes hungrily taking the sight in. With a shrug, Hermione decided it was best to leave while she still could and made her way toward her next stop on her list of errands – the chemist.

Just a few blocks down from the noisiness of the markets was a small square that Hermione had frequented more than once. An elderly couple called the Cadwalladers, owned the chemist shop in the far corner, with its hand-painted sign still advertising whooping cough medicine at only £0.59 and rose-fern latticing running up the far side of it. She spotted the elderly couple's grandson, Eurig, standing in the doorway, acting as security since it was the off-season for his rugby team, and gave him a cheerful smile as she entered the small store, receiving a short nod in response.

Hefting up a rickety wooden basket Hermione made her way down the aisles, collecting vitamins and toothpaste. As she reached for a packet of plasters she froze. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled in warning and Hermione had the odd feeling again of being watched. Careful not to turn her head, she looked up at the large, rounded security mirror bolstered up in the corner of the room. From her spot in the feminine hygiene aisle, she saw the back of a rather dumpy-looking man, hunched over and sneaking recurrent glances, before shuffling down to the far side of the aisle by the rash creams to peer at her through the shelves.

Slowly, Hermione lowered her arm, quietly and carefully crossing the length of the aisle. The man followed, shoving bottles of sunscreen out of the way to stare at her. She bit her lip nervously and walked back to the front of the shop, gesturing to Eurig with a sharp hand before subtly nodding her head in the strange man's direction. She hadn't caught sight of his face, but they were the only two in the store for it to be any less of a coincidence.

Eurig, at over six feet and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, glanced over her head to see the man dawdling in the feminine hygiene aisle, back turned, staring adamantly at the box of pads Hermione had been considering earlier – his basket was filled with the exact items she had collected. Eurig's eyes narrowed before he gave a brief nod in Hermione's direction and ambled his massive self toward the man.

"S'there anythin' I can help you with?" the guard grunted out.

The man jumped and swivelled to face Eurig. Hermione watched curiously, trying and failing to peek over one of Eurig's hulking shoulders which nearly spanned the width of the aisle, "N-n-no, no problem, sir!" the man squeaked.

"D'you need any help in findin' somethin'?"

"N-no! I'm all done here! D-d-don't need a single thing else… sir!"

"Then you better purchase your items at the register and leave," Eurig said finitely.

"R-r-r-right away, sir!"

But the man didn't move.

Eurig flexed his arms unsubtly, and Hermione watched fascinated as he stood nearly a good foot over the man, "Didn't you hear me, little man? I told you to leave."

Hermione could spot the man's knees shaking from behind Eurig, "I-I-I can't."

The security guard's voice dripped with sarcasm, "You can't?"

"…I'm stuck," the man finally whispered, "M-m-my feet… they're stuck to the floor…"

Eurig snatched the man by the collar of his shirt, lifting him over four inches above the ground, his feet swinging limply.

"Funny. They don't seem to be stuck anymore. But just in case… how about I help you on your way out?" Eurig hefted the man higher and began dragging him to the front, the man dropping his basket with a squeak, sending vitamins tumbling across the aisle.

"No, no, no! I have to talk to Hermi—!" the man called, but Eurig tossed him onto the street, slamming the door behind them, making the bell above the door jangle furiously. Hermione stood in the quiet of the shop, not certain what to do with herself before Eurig flung the door back open, clapping his hands free of imaginary dirt.

"Got a lift home?" Eurig grunted, turning to shuffle behind the counter where Hermione had nervously emptied her basket in an attempt not to stare.

She shook her head, "I took the bus."

Eurig reached for the corded phone, "I'll call you a taxi."

Hermione gave him a grateful smile as he quickly dialled the number for a cab, speaking to the operator for a few minutes before hanging up, "They shouldn't be longer than five minutes. You wanna pay by cash or card?"

Soon Hermione was giving Eurig a cheerful goodbye, arms filled with shopping bags as she made her way toward the main road, glancing down the street in hopes of catching sight of a hackney. The street wasn't overly busy, only a few cars filled the parking spots.

Standing stagnant against the side of the road, Hermione groaned under the weight of her shopping exploits, refusing to let them go in fear of somebody walking by and snatching them out of her tired fingers.

As she contemplated finding a bus service Hermione heard the roaring of an engine and a large motorcycle appeared almost enigmatically out of thin air from the end of the street. Hermione cursed her lack of focus and watched as the bike rolled its way down the road toward her. The rider was wearing a thick black helmet with a reflective visor. They slowed down after spotting her on the side of the road, coming to a halt just a few feet away, the motorcycle purring complacently.

"You need a lift, love?" the biker called out and Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"No, thank you. I am perfectly fine at this point in time."

But the biker ignored her. Lifting his visor, Hermione spotted only a sliver of pale grey eyes sparkling at her mischievously and a lock of long dark hair that had escaped the trappings of his helmet.

"Come on, those look heavy. I can't just leave you out here by yourself to carry all that home. Say, how about you come join a few of my friends and me for a drink? Ever had a butterbeer before?"

Hermione huffed indignantly, "If that is your attempt at flirting with me then I can assure you that you are both far too presumptuous and far too lacking in tact for me to ever even consider such a proposition!"

The stranger blinked, his eyes crinkling in confusion, "Flirting with you? No, 'Mione, you've got the wrong idea! I wouldn't want to—! Er, that is to say, that you're not pretty – I'm just trying to—!"

But then the smoothly purring engine of the motorcycle gave out an almighty roar that would have made a lion seethe in envy, and Hermione stumbled back a few steps with a yelp, dropping her bags to cover her ears, slamming her eyes closed against the outrageous noise as the bike continued to wail.

Hands placed securely by her head, Hermione creaked an eye open to see the biker still trying to yell at her over the top of the engine, which only bellowed back more furious in response, the bike vibrating so furiously that the man had to lurch forward and snatch the handlebars as not to get bucked off.

The moment he touched the handlebars, however, the motorcycle gave a shuddering whine and fell silent. The man heaved a relieved sighed.

"Now, where were we?" he asked.

"You were just leaving," Hermione grunted, lowering her hands from the sides of her head to glare at him.

The biker rolled his eyes, "Come on, I just want to talk about—"

Before he could even finish his sentence the motorcycle's engine flared back to life again and, with an ungainly squeal, the man was dragged after the bike as it torpedoed off like a bullet. Hermione watched astounded as he narrowly missed clipping the side of an expensive-looking sports car and bounced safely over a pothole before disappearing around the bend into figurative dust.

A soft honking pulled Hermione out of her daze and she glanced around to find a cab waiting for her.

Hermione didn't hesitate. Shoving her groceries into the backseat, she scrounged around the leather interior for her seatbelt and ordered, " _Just get me out of here!_ "

ΔOl

" _What was that?_ " Sirius hissed, yanking his helmet off and stomping away from his bike which gave a final gurgle before quietening, "What happened out there? You _tripped?_ "

James, seated by the side of the road, was tiredly wringing mango juice out of his sweater, scoffed, "I'll have you know that somebody pushed me. I didn't trip."

"There was nobody around to even push you!"

"Well, I felt it!" James snapped back childishly, "They must have been wearing an invisibility cloak or something – and like you were any better! What did you get; _three_ speeding tickets? I didn't even know muggles _had_ tickets for speeding!"

Sirius shoved the yellow slips of paper he'd been angrily clenching into his back pocket before turning to Peter, "Well, what about you? What happened in that weird little apothecary?"

Peter, who was now sporting a rather nasty black eye, gave a whimper, "I-I don't know. Somebody jinxed my feet to the ground, like how Anguson used to back in first year – I got stuck."

Sirius groaned, thrusting a hand through his hair. James dropped his own head into his hands and Peter leant heavily against a lamppost.

"This girl is more trouble than she's worth," Sirius muttered. James looked up sharply at that.

"Yeah, but Remus isn't," he said, invigorated. He hopped up from the side of the curb, abandoning his attempts to dry his shirt and snatched Peter and Sirius's arms, "Maybe we've been going at this all wrong. After all, the Marauders always worked better as a team than alone…"

ΔOl

Hermione released a sigh as she rubbed her neck. The hour-long bath she had taken had been close to magical after such a long and stressful day. She had a graveyard shift in the veterinary emergency room in just a few hours and felt she deserved a wind-down before her life became once again chaotic.

Rubbing a towel through her rapidly curling hair, she spotted the little red light of her answering machine flashing. She tapped it as she wandered into her bedroom to find some clean clothes.

"You have five new messages."

 _Five_? It was rare that Hermione even got one. Shimmying into a knee-length skirt, she waited for the message bank to start playing.

The answering machine calmly stated: "Message one."

"Hello, hello? It anyone there? Why can't I hear anything?" an unknown man asked.

"Maybe you have to speak louder? She is kind of far away," came a muffled voice in the background.

"HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?"

There was a pause.

"Nothing."

The line ran dead, and Hermione stared in amazement as the answering machine proclaimed: "Message two."

"Machine? What do you mean I'm talking to a machine? I want to talk to Hermione, not a machine! How do I get it to do that? Go ask Lily, Prongs!"

There was silence.

"Message three."

"Hello? Mr Machine? Lily told me that I have to speak to you to be able to talk to Hermione. Can you help me out?"

A pause.

"Why isn't it talking back?"

"Maybe I have to talk louder again. HELLO, MR. MACHINE? CAN I PLEASE SPEAK TO HERMIONE GRANGER?"

"It's an awfully rude machine, isn't it, Wormtail?"

They hung up.

"Message four."

"Am I holding this the right way up? Maybe I've been speaking to the wrong side…"

There was fumbling and then the voice sounded muffled and distant, "Ah, that's better. Maybe the machine can hear me now. Excuse me, Mr Machine, can I speak to Hermione yet?"

The line was silent before the man spoke up again in an annoyed tone, "Now see here, I've tried being nice and polite but now I demand that you put Hermione on the feletone right this instant— Hey, wait, James, give it back! I'm not done yet!"

There was the sound of scuffling and a few muffled curses before a new voice held the receiver, this time the right way up, "I'm really sorry, Mr Machine, he didn't mean to be so rude. But could you please let us talk the Hermione?" there was a pause before the new voice angrily said, "Well you are a right sod, aren't you?" and slammed the receiver down.

"Message five."

"Hey, what's this cord for?"

"I dunno. I think Lily says that it's how we can connect to Hermione's feletone."

"Well, why don't we just follow that then?"

"Er, she said something about there being more than one line…"

"How's that possible? There's only one cord! It must connect to her place! We'll just follow it and then we can go speak to her ourselves without that machine interrupting us. Hey, why is it stuck to the wall?"

"Sirius, maybe you shouldn't pull that—"

And, for a final time, the line went dead.

Hermione had paused halfway through pulling a shirt over her head to stare at her answering machine blankly. Shoving her top down the rest of the way, she stormed over to the phone and firmly pressed 'DELETE'.

ΔOΙ

"Lils! Come on! Let us have one more go at it!" James begged his wife. Lily held the landline in her hands which she only gripped onto harder.

"Not on your life, James. I think you three have bothered that poor girl enough without you harassing her home life as well. Besides, one of you is now going to have to fix the gaping hole from where you _completely_ _tore the outlet from my wall!"_

Sirius rolled his eyes as James cowered away, "Lily, come on. Give us another go, just so we can explain everything to her."

"Yeah, we just need one last try. I haven't even had a chance to talk to her yet," Peter argued.

Lily's eyes narrowed into slits and James was thrown on how suddenly she resembled her estranged sister, Petunia Dursley. " _None of you will be using my telephone and that is final_."

With that, she stormed off, the frayed end of the telephone cord slithering across the ground behind her.

Sirius scoffed, "That's not fair. She doesn't even know how to pronounce 'feletone' properly."

"Next plan then?" Peter offered.

ΔOl

A review guest asked how Hermione didn't seem to recognise the guys. If you read closely, you can see that she only ever catches glimpses of James and Peter before someone or something interrupts, and Sirius is wearing his helmet the entire exchange, so the majority of his face isn't even visible for her too see.

Bededu forlade en anmeldelse.


	11. Chapter 11: Neomycin Sulfate

Chapter 11: Neomycin Sulfate

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The six o'clock rush was close to ending at Wandsworth station, and the platform was only slightly crowded as people dawdled their way out. Hermione stood by her usual spot behind the yellow line, hoping to catch the early train to work. Any distraction was a good distraction from the horrors that had been her day.

 _Almost_ any distraction.

Peculiarly, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a great stag with antlers longer than her entire forearm a few dozen feet away, waiting patiently just behind the yellow line. Riding on its back was a greying rat, calmly perched between its shoulder blades. A shaggy black dog stood beside the two that Hermione recognised.

"Sirius?"

The dog turned its expressive grey eyes at her before his tongue lolled out of his mouth. But then a woman gave a loud shriek.

"Animals! Wild animals at the station! Somebody call Control!"

The platform broke into a panic; Hermione was nearly shoved right onto the tracks as one rather portly man bustled his way past, trying to steer clear of the of Sirius and his friends. Hermione's knees collided heavily with the concrete floor and she gave out a moan of pain. People fluttered about, ignoring the girl on the ground, trying to escape up the stairs through the turnstiles. The stag and the dog stood unmoving throughout the procession, while the rat squeaked nervously upon the deer's back.

When the last person had disappeared, Sirius padded over, nudging at her sides and whining softly at her bruising knee-caps.

"I'm all right," she said, running a hand through the thick fur on his neck, "I might need a little help standing is all."

The stag clip-clopped over to the two of them and lowered its majestic head to her side. Hermione stared in amazement as she raised a hand, slowly running her fingers across its scalp in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. But the stag pushed more adamantly against her hand and Sirius let out a soft woofing sound.

A sudden understanding filled Hermione, and she shifted her hand from the stag's head to its antler, gripping the velvet-covered bone. The deer lifted its head and Hermione felt herself being dragged to her feet in one sweeping movement that left her feeling breathless. Her knees ached and she shook slightly on her legs, but she was upright.

Bewildered, Hermione turned to the animals, "Thank you," she whispered.

The stag cantered on the spot happily, tossing its head in a show of bravado while Sirius gave a happy yip. The rat on the stag's back even gave a soft peep.

"Ma'am, I suggest you move away from the animals," a voice called out. Hermione, distracted by Sirius and his friends, had not noticed the team of six men and women dressed in official polo shirts flocking their way into the terminal. Their breast pockets reading, 'London Animal Protection Services'.

"Oh," Hermione started, "Oh, no. It's all right. They're—"

A man holding a shock pole stepped forward, "Ma'am, as nice and sweet as these animals may seem right now, they are still wild and are prone to act out."

Hermione huffed, "I'm not an idiot, you know. In fact, I'm a trained professional and probably know a lot more than you do about animal behaviourisms. Besides, I know this dog."

"Do you know the owner?"

"Er, well, no, not personally… but I would be able to recognise him if I saw him. His name is Remus Lu—"

"Ma'am, step away from the animals before we are forced to get the police involved."

" _Excuse me?_ How dare you—!"

A pressurised gust of air flew past her ear and a thin, feather-ended dart pierced the hide of the stag, who gave off an uncouth whinny and stomped its feet, shaking its head. Hermione gave a sharp shriek as she scurried back from nearly being disembowelled by its antlers. An animal control officer snatched her arm, dragging her into their makeshift boundaries. The deer was becoming disoriented, stumbling across the platform like a newborn just learning to walk. Sirius snarled at the group, hackles raised, when he gave his own yelp of surprise, a feathered dart sticking out of his shoulder. Before long, he was joining his friend in his own sleepy dance before they both collapsed to the floor. The rat squeaked unhappily.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Hermione sneered, "That stag has obviously been exposed to humans before –I doubt it would have been dangerous unless provoked. And neither would the dog."

The man with the shock pole stared her down, "You said you know the dog?"

"Yes, his name is Sirius; he's not a stray."

"We will ascertain who the dog's owner is after he is checked by one of our specialists for a microchip, where he can then be returned back to them," Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but the man cut her off, "I currently do not have the authority to release him out of word-of-mouth."

"Well, what about the deer? What are you going to do with him?"

"We will make sure he will be released into one of the wildlife reservations a few hours from the city. Until then, he will have to be kept under sedation. Now, as this scene is currently under the direction of the London Animal Control Services, we will have to ask you to find alternate transportation. Good day, ma'am."

Before she could blink, she found herself shoved up the stairs past the turnstiles into the dirty London streets. With a scowl, Hermione stomped her way to the nearest bus stop, grumbling under her breath the entire way.

She thought she heard a squeak coming from around her shoes as she painfully hobbled her way across the footpath, but every time she looked down she couldn't spot anything.

ΔOl

A muddy and twig-ridden James Potter Apparated with a crack in front of a sodden-looking Sirius, who sat on the porch outside of Peter's bungalow. James rubbed his tender backside as he carefully lowered himself into a seat.

"They gave me a flea-bath," Sirius muttered, tugging at a limp strand of hair, "I've never had fleas in my life!"

James pulled a leaf from the collar of his shirt, "At least you didn't get dumped in the woods in the dead of night. I was walking around in the dark for nearly an hour before I found my wand."

Sirius leaned back in his seat with a sigh before sitting back upright, suddenly alert, "Where's Peter? I thought we were supposed to meet him here after the plan."

"Maybe they made him into a lab-rat?" James shrugged, "He probably went and followed Hermione. I'm sure he'll have better luck than us. I mean, what's the worst he could do?"

Sirius and James petered off in thought.

"We should probably go after him, shouldn't we?"

"Definitely."

ΔOl

By the time she had gotten off the third bus, Hermione was under the belief that she was going insane as the squeaking continued to play just out of her line of sight. Her aching knees had turned black and blue in the short trip to work, so Hermione barged her way through to the staff kitchen with barely a hello to Catherine, the receptionist for the night, and snatched a large bag of ice from out of the freezer. Scowling, she stormed her way into her office – she had a good twenty minutes before her shift was supposed to start and she wasn't going to spend a moment more with knocked knees.

Her legs had become pleasantly numb by the time Catherine called her through the extension, " Dr Granger, there's a package for you at the front desk."

"A package?" Hermione asked, "I'll be right down."

Joints stiff, Hermione shuffled her way into the reception. It was empty except for a man around Hermione's age that looked like he had never suffered the punishment of a bedtime without supper. An Australian silky terrier sat next to him, a blue bow tied on top of its head, which snarled at her as she limped past. She ignored them, turning to Catherine, "Yes?"

With an excited grin, the girl lifted a rather large, rather gaudy gift basket from behind the counter. Dressed in orange and magenta streamers it was everything Hermione hated. Catherine seemed to be able to tell from the look on her face.

"Oh, come on, Dr Granger, it's just a spot of fun! Look, they've got all sorts of sweets and toys in here."

"It's… ghastly. Was there a note?" the receptionist shook her head. Hermione waved a dismissive hand, "Just leave it out for the patients then. I'm not a particularly large fan of sweets."

Catherine took out a bowl from a nearby shelf and poured the treats into it, leaving the toys in the basket, the shiny sweet wrappers crinkled happily. Hermione didn't give them another glance as she called over her shoulder, heading back to her office, "I'm going to change into my scrubs. Just give me a call when you're ready."

She had barely shut the door when the phone rang again. Hermione picked it up.

"Yes?" she asked wearily.

"Dr Granger! Come quick! Something has happened to Mr Dursley!" Catherine cried. Hermione could barely understand her through the tears.

Dropping the phone without a reply, Hermione rushed back into the reception room as fast as her legs would let her, she could hear barking and Catherine wailing from the front room. When she was finally able to hobble her way in, she was horrified to discover the man with the terrier had collapsed onto his knees as his dog ran about him, snarling and barking maniacally at what appeared to be its owner's tongue, which had grown over four feet long, waggling across the vinyl flooring.

Snatching a pen from beside a panicking Catherine, Hermione shoved the sealed end into Dursley's mouth, who had gone a decidedly odd shade of puce, and pressed down, forcing his swollen tongue from his airway.

"What happened?" Hermione shrieked over the terrier's barking.

"I-I don't know! All he did was take one of the sweets from the bowl!" Catherine stuttered.

Hermione spotted an innocent looking wrapper sitting beside Dursley. With strict orders for him to hold the pen in place (which he happily conceded to, as he was no longer resembling an overripe grape) she picked up the wrapper, carefully unfurling it and reading the multi-coloured message:

' _Weasley Wizard Wheezes would like to present to you, the Ton-Tongue Toffee; trick your friends, get back at your enemies – we guarantee hours of laughter for you to enjoy!'_

Hermione dashed to her feet to get her medical kit, "Call an ambulance!" she cried, "And toss out those sweets! Make sure nobody else touches them!"

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"A Weasley Wizard Wheezes gift basket? You got her a _gift basket_ from a _wizarding joke shop_? What part of 'she's a muggle' don't you understand?" James cried, dragging his hands through his hair before he tossed them up toward the sky, circling the front of the clinic. Red and blue lights flashed across his face from the other side of the parking lot.

"I thought it would be nice, y'know? The twins said that they've been really popular around Valentines for girls."

"For _witches_ , Peter. Not _muggles_ ," Sirius clarified.

They watched as a rotund young man was loaded into the back of a van with one of the muggle healers trotting behind carrying an extra six feet of tongue with a dazed expression.

James rubbed his forehead, "Lily is going to _kill_ me. If she finds out that we're the reason her nephew is in the hospital… this is worse than when Harry cursed Dudley with a pigtail – at least he was able to _hide_ it then!"

Sirius's eyes flew open, "What's Remus going to think if he finds out?" he said, aghast.

"He would probably think that you've all done quite enough damage," called a voice.

The three friends turned to find the fourth member of their quartet leaning by Sirius's motorbike, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, looking rather unimpressed.

Sirius gave a broad grin, "Remus! Nice to see you! Thought you'd still be up at that stuffy old castle of yours! Didn't think we'd see you until Christmas, in fact!"

"Save it, Sirius," Remus said sternly," I want to know what you lot have been up to since I've been away."

"Nothing, nothing! Absolutely nothing. Prongs?"

"Nope, not much going on around here, mate. Wormtail?"

"Not a thing! Everything has been very boring, nothing exciting whatsoever!"

Remus gave them a thin smile, "Funny. Because I just ran into Arthur Weasley. A sweet from his sons' practical jokes had been purposely fed to a muggle. The Aurors are in fits over damage control. This whole block is about to go into lock-down. You fellows wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?"

Before James, Sirius or Peter could reply, Hermione stepped out of the doorway, trying to calm down a weeping woman dressed in a name badge and uniform who looked positively terrified at what had occurred.

Remus's face turned a pallid grey and he turned to his friends. James flinched at his friend's expression.

" _Hermione is here? You were trying to trick Hermione?"_

"Er, not _trick_ her exactly. More like… _woo_ her," James muttered, shoving a nervous hand through his hair.

Remus threw his hands up in the air, stomping in a tight circle muttering to himself before he whirled on the trio, a furious look on his face, " _Woo her?_ You were trying to _woo her_? What is wrong with you lot?"

Sirius looked unimpressed with the display, "Well it's not like you were doing anything about it."

Remus shoved a finger in the man's face, "This was your idea, wasn't it, Sirius? I told you to leave her alone, but you didn't listen! People could have gotten hurt! The Ministry has gotten involved! You three could end up in Azkaban for this mess! Not to mention the amount of trauma you've inflicted on the girl the past few days!"

"Hold on, how do you know about the last few days?" James frowned.

Remus rolled his eyes exhaustedly, "Why do you think none of your plans worked?"

"Hold up, you've been tricking us, haven't you? You're the one that pushed James in the market and got Peter beat up and made my bike go haywire!" Sirius yelled.

"I bet he called Animal Control, too!" Peter piped up.

Sirius waved him off. James pulled another twig from his hair. "You're paying for my speeding fines, I hope you know!"

"No," Remus snarled, "What _you_ are going to do is leave Hermione _alone._ You lot had no right to—!"

" _Who in the world do you think you are?"_ came a voice from behind them.

The men turned to see a furious Hermione Granger, face illuminated by the flashing red and blue from the van across the road. Sirius and James blanched while Peter squeaked weakly. Remus looked like he had swallowed his own, normal-sized tongue.

Recognition flittered across Hermione's face before it fell into an even deeper scowl, pointing at Peter, "I know you! You were the one harassing me at my parent's work and at the chemist! And you—" she pointed at Sirius, "You were in Paris after my lecture, and I'm pretty certain you owned that wretched motorbike too!" her finger was then aimed at James, "And you were the one that threw my cards at me after they went missing! And yelled at me in the market! And you—!"

Her finger pointed a Remus last, and she jolted at the sight of the man. Sirius watched Hermione's lower lip quiver slightly as she softly mumbled, "You were the man in the park…"

Some of the colour came back to Remus' face at the notion that she remembered him, "Hermione…"

The surprise slipped from Hermione's features and Sirius was shocked to see her eyes had become glassy. She took a sudden step back from Remus as if she was afraid he would touch her.

"What is _wrong with you?"_ she screeched, "What did I ever do to deserve being treated like this? Followed, stalked, harassed," She pointed at the veterinary hospital, "Nearly _poisoned?"_

"Woah, hey, we weren't trying to poison you…" James feebly argued.

Hermione stared at him incredulously, her eyelashes coated in salty water as she tried desperately to blink back the tears as she stared at a trembling Remus, "Is this about the Aconite solution? Is this some sort of revenge?"

Sirius frowned when Remus didn't answer, "No, it's not that—!"

But Hermione wasn't listening. She had ducked her head and curled into herself, looking nothing like the strong-willed and confident woman they were used to, "Whatever I've done to you, I'm sorry." she hiccupped, "I'm truly sorry, but I'm _begging_ you _;_ just leave me be, please."

Sirius bent his head in shame. He hadn't meant to scare the girl, he had only wanted to help his friend.

"Look, Hermione…" he started.

As if a switch had been flicked, the anger came back, rearing its ugly head. With tears still in her eyes, Hermione bellowed, _"Just leave me alone!_ "

Before any of them could say anything, headlights flooded their vision. A car pulled up beside Hermione.

"Darling, are you all right?" Came the voice of an older woman in her fifties with the same eyes and hair, "Your call made your father and me so terribly worried, so I came to see if you were okay."

Hermione threw one last withering look at the four of them before she stepped into the passenger seat, "It's fine, mum. Could you drop me home? The clinic is closed for the night with the investigation. I've already said everything I need to."

The door slammed shut behind her, and all four men flinched. Sirius could hear her mother questioning her as the car sped off into the night, leaving the four friends in silence.

"Remus, mate, we're so sorry—" James started. But a loud crack announced that Remus had already Apparated away.

ΔOl

Oh, yeah. This story has a plot and an astounding amount of emotional trauma. Nearly forgot with all the Marauder's antics.

Por favor deja un comentario.


	12. Chapter 12: Delphinieae (Aconitum)

Chapter 12: Delphinieae (Aconitum)

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Sirius felt awful. Remus hadn't spoken to them in nearly a week. Every letter he, James and Peter had written had been promptly returned unopen, and Remus' fire grate had been filled to the brim with ash and incense, making it impossible for them to call him through the floo without being overcome with a violent round of sneezing (Sirius quickly discovered that he was particularly sensitive to the lavender incense sticks). Remus wasn't even giving them a chance to apologise.

He glanced at James and Peter sitting beside him with sullen frowns and taut lips. A game of wizard chess sat between them, long forgotten as the knights shouted and hollered, trying to stab their fingers with toothpick lances.

"What are you all doing just sitting here?" Lily called out, hanging her bag on its designated hook in the entrance hall, "Quidditch season is starting soon, I thought you would have been looking at the programs by now."

She cleared her way into the room. Harry and his new girlfriend, Ginny, not far behind. Sirius shrugged half-heartedly in response, so Lily turned to her husband.

"Remus is ignoring us."

Lily rolled her eyes at him, "Well of course he is. I _told_ you not to meddle with his love life. Hadn't I told you before after you spread those awful rumours about Harry when he was in school?"

Harry turned slightly pink and his girlfriend smirked at him. Sirius couldn't hold back a chuckle at his godson's expense.

"Sorry, mate," James offered sheepishly.

"Doesn't matter." Harry said quickly, changing the subject, "What are you going to do?"

"What is there to do? We just have to wait for Remus to talk to us again," Peter piped up, "He's forgiven us for worse."

Sirius sneered at him, "Yeah, but that time resulted in having Snivellus pretending we didn't exist. I don't think he wanted Hermione to ignore him."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Why don't you just try apologising to Hermione then?"

"How's _that_ going to help?" Sirius asked smarmily.

"Because she's the one that probably deserves an apology the most," she snapped.

Lily nodded and waved her hand as if she was scolding a group of toddlers, "Maybe if you explain to Hermione _why_ you all were acting so childishly she'd be willing to meet Remus?"

"Hey, yeah! And she could convince Remus to forgive us!" James burst out, jumping to his feet.

Sirius' eyes lit up, "That's brilliant, Prongs! Why didn't we think of that?"

"James, you're a genius!" Peter crowed.

Lily and Ginny scowled.

"Come on," Sirius pounced for the door, "She should be at the university today!"

He strode out into the small garden, hopping down the steps and, snatching James and Peters' arms, Apparated away.

ΔOl

The trio arrived with a sharp _crack_ off to the side of one of the older buildings right into a rough patch of underbrush. They all glared down at the prickly bushes in disdain before trampling their way onto the main walking path, pulling loose thorns and twigs off the hems of their trousers.

The university grounds were teeming with people; a mix of both young and old strode their way from building to building, talking and laughing or walking with their heads stuck in the depths of a textbook. Many clutched paper cups filled with a liquid which gave off a heady scent that reminded Sirius of Pepper-Up Potion. Others were walking around aimlessly with little wired cords jabbed into their ears as they bobbed their heads along.

"Right, so where do we go?" James asked.

Sirius strode toward a gaggle of girls who were sitting at a picnic table, talking loudly, "Excuse me, but do any of you know where Hermione is?"

"Hermione? Who's that?" scoffed a dark-haired girl, "I've never heard of her."

A blonde rolled her eyes, "Of course you do. You had Introductory Chemistry with her. They're talking about 'Know-It-All Granger'. You know, the teacher's pet?"

"Oh, of course," sneered the first girl, haughtily tossing her hair over her shoulder, "I don't know where she is. My best guess would be the labs in Building Eight. That's where she spends most of her time – I heard she sleeps under the tables just to make sure she's first to the lectures!"

The girls fell into peals of laughter so shrill that it made one boy passing by drop his textbook in fright. Sirius and the others frowned at the cackling group.

"C'mon," James muttered as the girls twittered wildly with slanderous accusations that got more and more outlandish, "Let's just go."

The three of them made their way through the court toward a tall building with the number eight painted on the door. They scoured the floors, peering their head through classroom windows trying to catch a glimpse of Hermione's messy head of hair. Sirius had laughed at Peter's horrified expression after they had caught sight of someone performing a dissection on a rat, but he was quick to fall silent when they stumbled across a canine neutering.

Finally, on the third floor, they spotted a girl sitting alone in what looked like their old Potions classroom. There were vials and tubes in every direction, with brightly colours concoctions bubbling away over contained flames. Hermione was dressed in a white robe and gloves, her hair tied up in an untidy bun, peering rather intensely through a curious-looking pair of omnioculars down at a small plate of glass.

Sirius gave the door a quick tap. Hermione jumped on the spot, her bun falling lopsided. She stared at him, James and Peter for a long moment, who waved cheerily gesturing for her to unlock the door, but she scowled darkly and shoved her head back into her omnioculars.

Sirius knocked louder this time. She refused to look up.

"Oh, sod it. We've already gotten this far." Sirius said, whipping out his wand and muttering a quick _'Alohamora'´_ under his breath. The door clicked open and the three of them stepped inside.

Hermione glanced up again, her frown darkening as they strode toward her, "What are you doing here? How did you get in? That door was locked!" before they could reply, she burst out, "It doesn't matter – just get out! I don't want to talk to you!"

"But—!" Peter sputtered.

"If you don't leave right this instant I'm calling for security. It's amazing they even allowed you on campus!"

James looked baffled, "We just want to talk—"

" _Security!_ " Hermione screeched, leaping out of her seat, "Security! I need you to escort—!"

" _Silencio!"_

Just as quickly as she started yelling, Hermione stopped. Her mouth kept moving furiously but no sound escaped it. A mixture of horror and dread flooded Hermione, her hands leaping to her throat.

James let out a curse, _"Wormtail!_ _Are you mad?"_

Peter stood with his wand held out in front of him, pointed at Hermione, who was still gaping like a fish, trying and failing to get any sound to escape.

"I-I… she was yelling, and I j-just wanted a moment s-so we c-c-could explain…" he stuttered out.

"So you _silenced_ her? With _magic_?" Sirius bellowed, raking his hands furiously through his hair, "Peter! If anyone at the Ministry hears about this—!"

But Sirius didn't get the chance to say anything else as an empty beaker flew past his ear, shattering against the wall behind him. A set of vials quickly followed, forcing him to duck.

"Merlin! Apparently shutting her up makes her even more dangerous!"

Hermione yanked off one of her shoes and hurled it at James who barely dodged out of the way, causing it to smack against Peter's temple who tumbled to the ground. She snatched her satchel off the seat next to her and swung it at Sirius, catching him heavily in the ribs with a pained " _Oof!_ ". Her other shoe came in contact with James, dislodging his glasses.

"Stop!" wheezed Sirius, gripping his sides, "Stop it! _We. Just. Want. To. Talk_."

She raised her bag to hit him again. Without thinking he dropped onto all fours against the linoleum tiles. He felt the hairs on his head thicken and spread into a coarse fur, his bones stretching and warping and his clothes disappeared, replaced with four legs and long bristly tail.

In a few short seconds Sirius was gone, replaced by a great hulking dog.

Hermione dropped the bag where it hit the floor with a dull _thud,_ an encyclopaedia tumbling out _._

"Oh, great work, Sirius. That'll really clear things up." James grouched. Sirius growled softly at him in return, padding his way over to the girl and wagging his tail at her.

Hermione stared down at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Erm, well I suppose you'd like to know what's going on..." James mumbled, wringing his wrists nervously.

"We're animagi!" Peter piped up unhelpfully.

"Hush up!" James hissed, before turning back to Hermione, "I mean, we _are_ animagi, which means—"

"Sirius can turn into a dog!"

"—No! I mean, yes. He can turn into a dog, but we can also—"

"I can turn into a rat. And James is a deer!"

James flung his hands into the air, "It's a stag! Not a deer. There's a difference!"

"No there isn't. One just a—"

Sirius gave a sharp bark, making James and Peter jump. The shaggy dog tossed his head at Hermione's direction, who was standing rigidly in the same spot.

"Hermione?" James asked. He turned to Sirius, "Why isn't she saying anything?"

"Maybe she's gone into shock?" Peter suggested.

Hermione rolled her eyes then, furiously tapping at her throat.

James blushed, "Oh, right," He turned to Hermione and said in a patient voice, "Now, I'm going to take the spell off now, but you have to promise not to hit us, all right?"

Hermione stood there for a long moment, before reluctantly nodding her head.

"Good," James said, relieved. With a swish of his wand, the spell was broken. Immediately, Hermione's hand lashed out, striking Peter across the face.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

" _That_ was for cursing me!"

She smacked Sirius next, who yipped loudly, "And _that_ is for tricking me into thinking you were a dog!"

James was last, not quite fast enough to dodge, "What did I do?"

"I don't know, but you probably deserved it!"

"You promised not to hit us!" James complained loudly.

"I never verbally agreed," She replied snootily.

Sirius transformed back onto his two feet, rubbing at his sore cheek, "Will you listen to us now?"

Hermione looked surprised to see him change back so quickly, and said in a slightly uneven tone, "I'm not going to apologise for hitting you. You have all been rather horrible to me."

"I suppose that's fair," James conceded, ignoring Sirius's outraged squawk and Peter's feeble whimper of disappointment.

"So," Hermione looked at Sirius square in the eye, "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" He asked stupidly.

She rolled her eyes, "Change into a dog, of course."

"W-well, like James w-w-was saying, we're all animagi—" Peter stuttered, but Hermione just waved him off with an impatient hand.

"Yes, yes, I heard all that," she huffed impatiently, "But I want to know _how_ you did it?"

Sirius grinned, "Do you believe in magic?"

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The Three Broomsticks was bustling with people, laughing loudly and clinking tankards and sending butterbeer sloshing across the already sticky tables and floors. It was one of the more popular locations for the Hogwarts students, other than the sweet shop further down the street.

After spending nearly fifteen minutes wrangling for an empty table, Remus found himself squashed into the farthest corner of the room, tapping on his empty tankard and refusing to budge in case he lost his seat. More than one student had approached him asking if they could use the spare seats but he guiltily turned them away claiming he was waiting for his friends. James and the others were supposed to be here by now.

After weeks of giving his friends the cold shoulder, ignoring their owls and dousing their fire calls with pales of water, he had finally relented. He had never been that good at holding grudges, and there was only so many letters he could burn before people started questioning why his fireplace always seemed so full.

Besides, as annoying as they were, Remus missed them.

But no matter how much he missed them didn't excuse them for being late. Swilling the last dregs of butterbeer in his glass he huffed impatiently, sitting the glass down with a firm _thump_. He didn't have time to wait around for Sirius, James and Peter – he had both the fourth and sixth years' essays to grade before Monday, not to mention preparing the first years' practical on Clabberts. Even just the thought of all the work sent a headache trilling through his brain.

He had a knapsack with him where he had stuffed a few of his students' assignments that he could get a head-start on, but most of the bag was stuffed to the brim with some much more precious documents that he didn't have the heart to throw away.

"Excuse me—" came a voice.

"Sorry," said Remus gruffly, not looking up from his tankard, frustration seeping into his voice, "You can't have this table. I'm waiting for someone."

"I know," the voice replied, pulling out the chair opposite and seating themselves primly.

Remus' head snapped up to tell whoever it was off, only for his words lodged halfway up his throat. Sitting opposite him, hair in its regular disarray and eyes bright and curious, was Hermione Granger.

"Hello," she said, almost shyly.

"H-Hermione," Remus squeaked out in a voice quite unlike his own, all thoughts of his friends and work fleeing his head. "I… What are you doing here?"

Hermione shrugged, carefully placing her own tankard of butterbeer onto a coaster, "Your friends helped me. It was a rather large struggle to get into Hogsmeade – apparently, the whole town has been bewitched to stop muggle tourists from just wandering in. I'll admit, all of this is giving me a bit of a migraine."

The air escaped from Remus's lungs in a sharp _whoosh_ as he hissed out, "You know about magic?"

She nodded enthusiastically, "Sirius told me."

" _Sirius_ told you?" Remus was flabbergasted.

"James and Peter as well, of course. It took me a little while to properly get my head around it, but eventually, they explained everything to me."

Swallowing thickly, Remus whispered, "Did they… did they tell you anything about… About me? About… _you know what_?"

He watched the cogs whir in her mind before a soft smile blossomed on her lips, "Yes."

They were silent for a long time, Hermione taking sips of her butterbeer. Thoughts and emotions were swirling around in Remus' head like one of Snape's more sickly concoctions. Elation and fear and happiness and terror whipped through his mind, positively sending him reeling in his chair.

Hermione glanced up from her drink, a look of concern apparent on her face, "Remus? Are you all right?"

He tried to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, but could only offer a weak nod of his head. But Hermione saw straight through it, placing her glass on the table and pushing her chair out. The smile had fallen from her face as she reached for her clutch.

"I'm sorry. I told the others that this wasn't a good idea. I'll just go—"

"No!" Remus nearly leapt across the table, snatching at her hands with his own and almost sent her tumbling back into her seat. Embarrassed, he yanked his hands back and stared hard at his bitten cuticles. He could feel eyes him and he caught more than one student leaning over to whisper behind their hands and giggling.

Slowly, Hermione lowered herself into her chair and leant across the table to place her own nail-bitten hand on top of his own. Once again, all the air escaped his lungs at once, leaving him feeling dizzy.

Hermione licked her lips before saying carefully, "Do you want to get out of here? I'd love to have a tour of Hogsmeade. Sirius recommended the Shrieking Shack."

"Of course he did," he muttered darkly, feeling the back of his neck heat up.

Hermione tugged at his hand and Remus couldn't help but follow her out the door of the Three Broomsticks away from leering, curious eyes.

"Now," Hermione said firmly, her eyes flitting back and forth excitedly as students dashed past, pockets full of jokes and sweets, "Where should we go first? I can't say I've ever visited a wizarding community, so I want to see _everything._ "

Remus let out a soft chuckle as he proffered a hand down toward the south side of the street. Hermione tugged on his hand again and the two of them made their way down the cobblestone path as she shot rapid-fire questions at him about everything and anything magic.

ΔOl

They visited the Post Office, Gladrags Wizardwear and Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, before purposely striding past Madam Puddifoot's (which Hermione had loudly scoffed at, earning more than a few sharp glares from the lovesick patrons making their way inside) until they reached an audacious building coloured in gaudy shades of magenta and burnt orange. The sign proudly read 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes' in bold letters that flashed in different colours every time one of them blinked.

"What an eyesore," Hermione stated. She felt a little overwhelmed as they sat on a bench opposite the store, watching what she supposed were a pair of third years dash in and out with mischievous grins. With a deep breath, she turned from a display of joke wands in the window and asked, "So… what do you like to do?"

"I enjoy moonlight strolls," Remus said matter-of-factly.

Hermione choked out a snort of laughter. Remus turned a soft shade of pink.

"I really do," he maintained, "Up until recently I've never been able to admire the moon when it was full. I've always had to hide away from others, pretend that I didn't exist..."

Hermione sobered, tightening her grip on his hand and gave him a smile, "Well, I for one am very glad you exist. I wouldn't be anywhere near as happy as I am now if you weren't here. Your friends on the other hand..."

She expected a polite laugh or a muttered "thank you" from Remus, but when she looked up, she found him just staring at her, not moving. She felt naked under the searching eyes that roamed her face as if they were trying to memorise every crease, every freckle, every individual eyelash. She oddly didn't feel embarrassed when the pale brown met with her own, frowning slightly with what looked like apprehension.

She leant forward to wipe his forehead free of the creases that threatened to mar his already scarred skin, when a firmness set in his eyes and, with only the slightest hesitation, he swooped down to press his lips against hers.

Remus swallowed her squeak of surprise as he pressed softly against her. His hand sending a shock of static running down her spine as it travelled from where she had clasped it, up the length of her arm, momentarily teasing the skin just under the short sleeve of her blouse, before coming to rest on the junction of her neck, fingers playing soothing patterns across the base of her skull like a skilled pianist.

Hermione allowed her eyes to fall shut as his lips became more insistent, causing a pressure she had never felt before start to grow inside her chest. She could hear her heart beating in her ears, and, without any true sense of propriety – not caring that they were in the middle of the street where anyone could walk by – she began to move with the kiss, happily feeling him shove her mouth even harder to his, urging her to keep kissing back.

She was astounded. This man (for he truly was by all accounts a man) wanted her; brainy, unsociable Hermione Granger. With a grin that threatened to break the kiss, Hermione raised her own arms to rest on his shoulders, carelessly splaying her hands through his hair as she twisted her head and sharply bit his bottom lip.

Remus pulled his face back in surprise, making Hermione giggle at the expression.

"What? Are werewolves all bark and no bite?" she asked.

Remus just shook his head good-naturedly and leant in for another kiss—

Only to be stopped by raucous hooting and wolf-whistling. Hermione glanced up and, for a brief moment, thought that Remus's kiss had sent her into such a tizzy that she was seeing double, only to discover that she was staring up into the cheeky grins of an oddly dressed pair of red-headed twins in the doorway of the hideous joke shop.

Remus scowled, hand still tangled in the hair at the base of her skull, "What do you two want?"

The one standing on the left gave a mocking bow, "Just wanted to congratulate our ex-professor on his achievement of finally getting a girlfriend. You've won us twenty galleons, you know?"

The one on the right copied his brother, bending low at the waist, "Everyone else thought Snape was going to get a date before you. Gotta say that you've certainly taken your daily serving of Felix Felicis with this one!"

Hermione gave a despondent growl as she removed her own hands out of Remus's hair, "I do speak Latin, you know, and I assure you I'm not some sort of lottery pickings."

The twins straightened and blinked at one another, "What's Latin?"

"It's what you were just speaking—! Oh, never mind."

Remus, still looking rather put-out, motioned to the two boys who couldn't be more than a few years older than herself, "Hermione, meet Fred and George."

George waggled a finger in Remus's face, "Nuh-uh, wrong again, Professor. I'm George and he's Fred."

"Am I?' Fred asked, stupefied.

Remus rolled his eyes as if he was in pain, "Come on," he motioned to Hermione, leaving the two brothers to bicker over who was who.

They travelled further up the street, passing by shops that sold the most peculiar wares. Hermione stopped in front of each window to stare amazedly at the bits and bobs inside. They spent over an hour in the second-hand bookstore and Remus had to bribe her with another butterbeer to stop her from buying a book called _The Monster Book of Monsters_ that had been seated in a window with a thick strap of leather strapped around it and growled whenever someone passed by.

They continued to walk up the street, the cobblestone path slowly turning to dirt as the shops began to peter out. Right at the end, she spotted a grubby-looking pub called The Hog's Head and Hermione was secretly glad when Remus passed it without stopping.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as they veered off the dirt trail.

Remus smiled sadly, "You'll see, it's right up ahead."

The rounded a corner and Hermione was introduced to what appeared to be a decrepit old house with the windows boarded up. A large fence surrounded the building, and old signs littered the overgrown path leading to the front door, warning people to 'keep away' and 'danger'.

Remus ignored the signs, clambering over the fence into the yard. Hermione gave a surprised squeak, "What are you doing?"

He offered a hand to her and gave her a grin that didn't quite meet his eyes, "I have something to show you."

She hesitated before she squeezed her way through the slats of the fence, not wanting to risk twisting an ankle if she jumped over. Remus led her up the pathway, ignoring the foreboding signs. The wind picked up, causing Hermione to wrap her arms around herself to fight off the shiver that ran down her spine. There was a sharp _crack_ that made her whirl on the spot. Remus was yanking off the boards blockading the entrance door.

"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed again, glancing around to check if anyone has seen but the grounds were empty, "You can't do that! It's breaking and entering!"

"Don't worry about it," Remus replied, still mimicking a false cheer as he twisted the doorknob, "No one is around to see us."

Hermione gave him a severe look before following him into the house, "I hope you know if we get caught—"

The words died on her lips as the stepped into the parlour. The house was in ruins like a hurricane had swept through and destroyed everything in its path. Deep, four-pronged gouges ran across the walls and floors, and Hermione spotted a support beam that had been torn to shreds. She glided further into the house, finding furniture torn to shreds and the fireplace in the living room nothing but a pile of broken bricks. There was a trap-door by the fire, covered in large footprints left from the soot, like a dog's, but _much_ larger.

"Let's go upstairs," Remus said in a hushed tone that was too loud for the quiet. The false smile was gone, replaced with a look of apprehension. Hermione nodded and timidly followed him up the staircase, cautious of the banister that sat in splinters across the ground floor.

The hallway leading to the rooms were no better than the rest. Barren of any furniture or photographs, the house was cold and terrifying, even with the soft grey light of Scotland's afternoons weakly sifting through the cracks of the windows. Remus led her to a room at the end of the hall and carefully opened the door. It once could have been considered a bedroom, but the bed had been gutted, and its frame a twisted pile of metal. The walls had the same marks as the rest of the house.

Both curious and apprehensive, Hermione raised a hand and splayed her fingers out against the closest wall, "Are these claw marks?"

Remus didn't say anything. There was a look of agony on his face as he glanced anywhere but at her. Hermione turned back to the wall, tracing a finger down the long, jagged marking, "What could have done this? A bear?"

"Me."

Hermione turned to stare at Remus, "I beg your pardon?"

"It was me. I did this."

Hermione looked down at his hands with their neat fingernails and calloused thumbs that were clenched tightly into fists, "You mean when you…"

"Yes," he said shortly, still not looking at her, "I just wanted to show you what I was capable of before we… before you…" He seemed to struggle for words before he said resolutely, "I just wanted you to understand what kind of monster I was before you…"

Hermione snorted then, "You're the farthest thing from a _monster_ ," she spat, "In fact, I think you were incredibly brave."

" _Brave_?" Remus twisted on the spot to stare at her incredulously, "You think cowering in fear of the full moon in the Shrieking Shack is _brave_?"

"Yes. I think taking the risk of coming to school, despite everything I've heard about werewolves and the discrimination they go through, is incredibly brave, and to come here by yourself and suffer through… all of this," she waved her arms out at the room, "I think that act of bravery surely defines you more than what you changed into once a month."

He didn't look like he believed her, so Hermione mustered up all of her courage and whispered out, "I… I wouldn't care if you were still a werewolf, Remus. I think that I would like you just as much as I do now… and I like you a lot. Even with your weird, nosy, stalking friends."

Remus let out a gruff laugh at that, finally turning to look Hermione in the eye, a dull glimmer of hope in them.

"I really like you, Remus. Werewolf or not, I don't think that stops you from being as witty or as smart, or even how much of a good person you are."

The glimmer had transformed into a veil of confidence, and Remus strode over to Hermione, wrapping his arms around her, "You really don't mind?" he huffed in her ear.

"Not in the slightest."

He ducked his head, trying to hide the dopey grin that was quickly spreading across his face, "You are by far one of the most amazing, ingenious, wonderful people I've met, Hermione."

He could feel the heat in her cheeks heighten as he brushed his own up against it, "Not hardly," she muttered, embarrassed. "All I did was jab you with a serum that I wasn't even sure would work."

But Remus was already shaking his head, pulling out a stack of crumpled paper from the knapsack that dangled off his shoulder, "No, you really are. What you've done for me – for werewolves – is so much more than anyone's ever done for centuries. You've changed history, Hermione Granger – both muggle and wizarding."

His words flew over Hermione's head in her excitement to see her thesis papers again – slightly soggy at the corners and some of the ink unreadable, but _there,_ "My notes!"

Remus offered the papers to her, "It was very good. I needed a dictionary for most of it, I'll admit. Sorry for all the slobber, Sirius got a bit too excited."

Hermione just shook her head. Most of her scribbled markings were still legible despite the water stains, and not a single scrap of paper was missing. Hermione nearly shouted in glee as she launched herself into Remus's arms, wrapping her arms around his neck as she chanted "thank you," into the breast of his coat over and over. He smelled like pine trees.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, a smile painted so wide across her face she was worried she was going to crack some of her teeth (her parents would not have been happy about that). Remus looked a little dazed. An odd, soft smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you," Hermione heaved out exhaustedly a final time, her jaw aching in happiness, too overwhelmed to consider being embarrassed.

"'S no problem," Remus told the ground, flushed before he lifted his eyes to meet hers, determination setting in that piercing pale stare. He offered an arm out to her, "You know, you might not be able to do magic, but have you ever considered potioneering? I think you'd have a talent for it."

Hermione laughed, linking her own with the dashing man's, "We'll see."

ΔOl

THE UNITED KINGDOM PATENT AND TRADEMARK OFFICE

Vaccine Patent Application (Pharmaceuticals)

TITLE: _Aconitum Lyssavirus Genus vaccine_

INVENTOR: _Hermione Jean Granger_

CONTENTS: _Amphotericin B;_ _β_ _-Propiolactone; Chlortetracycline; Neomycin; Ovalbumin; Potassium Glutamate; Albumin; MRC-5 Cells; Sodium Ethylenediaminetetraacetic Acid (ETDA); Polygeline (processed bovine gelatine); Neomycin Sulfate; Aconitum (Wolfsbane)._

PATENT REQUEST: _Granted_

ΔOl

I hope you all enjoyed. This was just a cute story I had been mulling over for a couple of years and thought I should finish it. Would love to hear your thoughts and ideas on the story and hopefully I made you laugh a little along the way.


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